


there are no atheists in foxholes

by suspendrs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Don't @ Me, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Lots of it, M/M, Minor Character Death, Shipwreck, Tragedy, it's a shipwreck fic it's full of death and angst and horror idk what you're expecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:44:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 64,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspendrs/pseuds/suspendrs
Summary: “Do you think we’ll ever see it again?” Harry asks after a minute. “London?”Louis blinks, looking down. They very well could spend the rest of their lives on this island, and they’re both very aware of that. Everyone probably already thinks they’re dead, anyway. Their flats are going to be sold, and their families are going to have funerals, and life is going to go on without them. Even if they do get rescued, it’s already been days. The news of the shipwreck has definitely reached London by now. They don’t know if there’s been any effort to look for survivors, but they also don’t know how far away from the wreck they are, or how far people are going to go to look for them, or if anyone even knows that this island is here and, like, it’s very possible that they’ve already looked and stopped looking for survivors, and no one knows they’re out here-“I don’t know,” Louis says, before he can start spiraling. “I hope so, but I don’t know.”Or, the sea takes everything from Louis, but it gives him back more than he ever could’ve asked for.





	there are no atheists in foxholes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [There are no atheists in foxholes (Italian Translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854751) by [Smalltimedreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalltimedreams/pseuds/Smalltimedreams)



> i'm gonna apologize for this before you even start reading i don't know where this came from one day we were talking about robinson crusoe in class and the next day this happened i'm just really sorry
> 
> big thanks to my lovely girlfriend charlie for letting me name a character after them (and kill him) and also the biggest thanks to sonja for proof reading this for me and being so patient with all of my ridiculous mistakes
> 
> title is from Sunshine Riptide by Fall Out Boy.

There’s a glare on the water that ripples and shimmers with the choppy little waves and makes Louis’s eyes hurt, even through the sunglasses perched on his nose. It’s pleasantly warm out today, not so hot that he’s sweating, but enough that he doesn’t feel bad fanning himself with his boarding pass like the diva he’s meant to be.

Charles is lagging behind slightly, pulling his suitcase behind him like it weighs more than he does and isn’t, like, literally on wheels. Louis would roll his eyes, but they’re already aching from the unrelenting glare off the water below the dock.

“Nearly there, love,” Louis says, glancing over his shoulder at his boyfriend. Charles just whines a bit and takes a few long steps until he’s next to Louis, sighing with relief when Louis angles his ticket to fan him instead.

“It’s hot out,” he complains. His face is all red and blotchy, his nose pink under his sunglasses like he’s already burning. Louis has a feeling he’ll be dating a lobster by the end of this cruise. 

“It’s not that hot,” Louis says, continuing to fan Charles’s face while they inch up in the line. “As soon as we get on the ship we can find a pool and cool off, yeah?”

Charles just moans in agony and Louis giggles, turning back to assess their progress in the line. They’re only a few people away from the crew members checking boarding passes, and then they’ll get to head up and into the ship, where it will hopefully be air conditioned, for Charles’s sake. 

A few whines and frustrated huffs later they get their passes checked and they’re let onto the ship, which, to Charles’s delight, is dark and cool. Louis pushes his sunglasses up to the top of his head and leads the way past the front desk and down the hall, keeping an eye out for their room number.

Louis couldn’t quite afford the nicest rooms on the ship on his drama teacher’s salary, but he did spring for one a bit more luxurious than he would typically go for. It’s a big trip, he must admit; if all goes according to plan, he’ll be getting off this ship in a week’s time engaged to the man bumbling down the corridor behind him.

He finds the room down the hall and around the corner, on the outside edge of the ship so they have a window that looks out over the sea. Charles drops his suitcase immediately inside the door and then flops down on the bed, while Louis goes to have a look at the ensuite. It’s pretty massive, as far as bathrooms aboard cruise ships go. There’s a massive standing shower and double sinks, and the entire room appears to be made of marble. If this ship sinks, Louis thinks, the toilet will be the thing that drags it down.

The bedroom itself is quite beautiful as well; it’s nautical themed, of course, bright whites and navy blues with little anchors on the bed sheets. The carpet is navy and incredibly plush when Louis kicks off his trainers and scampers across the room to plop down on the bed near Charles’s side.

“You like the room?” he asks, poking at Charles’s sweaty head. God, Louis thinks, typical Englishman, sweaty and burnt from fifteen minutes in the sun.

Charles rolls over and sits up with a dramatic sigh, looking around the room quickly. “Lovely,” he decides, glancing over his shoulder at Louis with a smile. “You did good, Lou.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, satisfied, stretching out on the bed and crossing his feet at the ankles. It takes about four seconds for Charles to crawl up on top of him, pressing his fingers into his ribs to make him squirm. Charles isn’t much bigger than him, but he’s a little more soft where Louis’s a little bit sharper, thicker where Louis’s more toned. He’s got light hair and a smooth face, and he complains when Louis doesn’t shave for a few days because he chafes easily, but Louis quite likes keeping his beard long sometimes.

Charles kisses him chastely, mostly because Louis’s got a bit of facial hair right now, and then sits up. “So, what’s there to do? Have you made us some kind of itinerary?” he asks.

“Nope,” Louis says, smug. “I booked the room and got us here, that’s my part done.”

“Wanker,” Charles mutters, reaching for the booklet on the bedside table and rolling off of him. “Oh, we could take a behind the scenes tour of the ship! That would be cool,” he says, showing Louis the spot on the page.

“There’s a bar upstairs,” Louis says, hardly glancing at the booklet.

“We could take a dance class! Oh, Louis please, let’s do a dance class?”

Louis would laugh, but he knows Charles isn’t kidding, unfortunately. “Sounds fun,” he lies. “Or, like, there’s a bar upstairs.”

“All you wanna do wherever we go is get drunk,” Charles says, flipping through the booklet distractedly. “Let’s go see a magic show!” 

“Let’s get drunk,” Louis says, rolling over into Charles’s side, “and I’ll put on a magic show for you right here.”

“Ew,” Charles laughs, shrugging him off. “That was the straightest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Well, you’re not getting any magic tonight, then,” Louis huffs, rolling off the bed and opening up his suitcase to find his swim shorts. “I’m going to go find a pool. Care to join?”

Charles drops the booklet and heads for his own suitcase, while Louis ducks into the ensuite to get changed. The boat won’t even leave the port for another few hours, but Louis just wants to get out of this room and start having fun now. If he starts giving in to Charles’s terrible interests now, he’ll have lost, and this will end up being the longest cruise of his life. He wants this to be fun, and he thinks it will be, so long as he gets to stay in control of everything that happens.

-

It’s not that love is overrated, not really, but in real life it’s hardly everything it is in the movies. Louis’s been with Charles since uni, which means six entire years, seven next spring. He’s just comfortable with him now more than anything, which is nice, in a way. There’s no surprises, no guessing games, no insecurity in their relationship. Louis doesn’t get butterflies when he looks at him, doesn’t spend hours thinking about him when they’re apart, doesn’t linger in his embrace just for the sake of lingering. He thinks it’s nice that they’re not all mushy and disgusting together; they’re as independent as two people in a relationship can be, but they still get to come home to each other at the end of every day.

This is Louis’s first proper relationship, and he’s never really experienced love outside of this. He slept around a lot in uni, especially while he was figuring himself out, but once he found Charles, he finally felt comfortable enough to settle down. Things have been good in that they haven’t had a reason to break up yet in six years, so Louis supposes it’s time to put a ring on it and call it a day. Yeah, Charles can be annoying sometimes and they have the occasional fight about Louis being about as affectionate as a goldfish, but they work, it all works.

Louis’s got another drink in his hand and he’s not entirely sure where this one came from; people have been buying him drinks all night, egging him on, because he gets loud and amusing when he’s drunk, and he loves the attention. He’s in a maroon scoop neck and black skinny jeans tighter than his own skin, and he’s surrounded by people, boys and girls and everyone in between, and they’re all laughing at something he’s saying. He’s telling a story, but he’s pretty sure he’s making it all up, getting more and more outrageous to keep his fans laughing. 

He’s always been a bit of an attention whore, if he’s honest. He loves the thrill of making people laugh, of making them happy, being remembered. He likes being able to light up a room with a story and a few jokes, and he’s gotten quite good at it since uni. He’s flamboyant by nature, and he talks with his hands, sloshing his drink around until he remembers to drink it. The alcohol is racing hot through his veins, and he’s sure he’s got more of it than blood by now, but he’s not nearly done.

There’s this one guy that keeps trying to interrupt him, like he wants some of the attention too. Louis just keeps shushing him, but the guy is persistent, and Louis’s a little too wasted to properly fight him off. He gives up eventually, pushing out of the crowd and over to the bar, where he’s pretty sure he left his boy a few hours ago.

Charles tends to hang back when Louis’s causing a scene, more subdued and happy to watch from a distance. He enjoys a couple drinks, but he never gets quite as pissed as Louis does, probably so that at least one of them is competent enough to get them both home at the end of the night.

Louis finds him sipping on something pink and fizzy at the bar, and even from behind him, he can tell Charles’s body language is flirty. His head is cocked and his pinky is out, his legs open just enough to look inviting atop his barstool. The guy he’s talking to looks like an arse, with a stupid silk shirt hardly buttoned and tucked into high waisted jeans, a pair of glasses perched on his head like a hairband. Louis slides up behind Charles and drapes himself over his shoulder, giving the other guy a dramatic onceover just to let him know he’s not impressed. 

“Hi, baby,” Charles says, planting a kiss on Louis’s cheek. “Having fun?’

“Mhm,” Louis hums, stealing the glass out of Charles’s hand and taking a sip. “That’s good. Wass’it?”

“Some type of sangria, something,” Charles shrugs. “Harry bought it for me.”

Louis’s eyes flick up again to the other guy, and he puts the glass down gracelessly. “Who?”

“Hi,” says Silk Shirt Asshat, waving at Louis with his stupidly long fingers. He has a cross tattooed on his hand like some southern American white girl. Louis hardly resists the urge to roll his eyes. “My name’s Harry.”

Louis just hums again, stealing another sip of Charles’s drink because he somehow misplaced his own and he’s not drunk enough to be talking to someone who looks like this. Then again, he doesn’t think it’s possible to be drunk enough to talk to someone who looks like this.

“We were just chatting,” Charles says, stealing his drink back before Louis can finish it. “Harry’s from London, too.”

“Think 90% of the people on this ship are from London, love,” Louis says.

“Actually,” Asshole Harry says, “I met a couple earlier that’s from Sweden, and there’s a German family staying in the room next to mine.”

“Lucky them,” Louis mutters, ignoring the gentle elbow Charles digs into his ribs as retribution. 

Harry looks like he’s going to say something else, probably something just as annoying as all the other things he’s said, so Louis sighs a little and straightens up. Maybe he should work on being a little less judgemental. Maybe tomorrow. “Bed?” he says quietly, just for Charles, because that’s the easiest way to pull him away from any situation.

Charles sighs but smiles, always endeared by Louis’s antics. Louis’s probably a bit luckier than he thinks he is. “Bye, Harry,” he calls, letting Louis drag him out of the bar and out to the main deck of the ship.

It’s late, probably nearly two in the morning, but the ship is well lit and the lights hurt Louis’s head a bit. Charles takes over leading the way back to their room when Louis cowers a bit to protect his sensitive eyes, helping him down the stairs when Louis’s drunk legs seem to forget how exactly to function.

“Harry’s nice, you know,” Charles says, once the most treacherous part of their walk is over and they’re nearly back to their room. “He was just being friendly.”

Louis snorts, leaning heavily into Charles’s side while Charles unlocks the door. “No one that looks like that is ever just being friendly.”

Charles rolls his eyes and manhandles Louis into the room, standing him up straight to assess just how drunk he really is. Louis smiles in a way he hopes is enticing and tries to cock his hip, but he ends up just stumbling into Charles’s chest a little.

“Alright, bedtime for you,” Charles decides, sitting Louis down on the bed and getting down on his knees to untie his shoes.

“Bedtime for me,” Louis sings, making Charles’s job a little harder by squirming as he tries to undress him. 

Charles just huffs a laugh and tackles Louis to the bed, once Louis’s down to his pants and Charles has pulled on his pajamas. Louis lets him cuddle close, cold from being outside for only a moment, and Charles falls asleep in record time with his face mashed into Louis’s chest.

Louis tries to drift off as well, but no matter how far he turns his head, he can’t get away from the smell of Charles’s hair. It should be comforting, probably, his boyfriend’s scent, but it just smells like old shampoo and head and Louis can’t help but find it anything other than gross.

Eventually he manages to fall asleep, his head turned all the way away from Charles with his face pressed into the pillow, the alcohol helping to put him out. He’ll wake up tomorrow with a pain in his neck and a nasty hangover but, all things considered, he doesn’t hate this cruise so far.

-

They spend the morning in bed which, with the amount Louis drank last night, is pretty par for the course. Charles doesn’t seem to mind the few extra hours of lie in time, because he’s learned to take cuddles where he can get them over the years he’s spent with Louis. Louis gets extra cuddly when he doesn’t feel well, especially when he’s hungover, and Charles adores all the affection he can soak up on mornings like this.

It’s not that Louis isn’t a very cuddly person, or that he doesn’t like to show affection; it’s just that sometimes it feels a bit forced with Charles, and he doesn’t like that. He usually loves hugs and cuddles, especially with his family, but with Charles, he likes to keep their cuddles special, sacred.

Charles orders him some tea and breakfast from room service, and they manage to stay in nearly until noon. By then, Louis’s mostly napped off his headache, and tea always perks him up, no matter how bad he’s feeling. Charles is itching to get out into the sunshine and Louis supposes he can handle that, finally allowing Charles to drag him out of bed and into his swim shorts. He puts on a loose fitting t-shirt and a baseball hat, as well, because he doesn’t feel like being entirely exposed to the sun right now, and then finally he lets Charles lead him up to the main deck.

There are people milling about, mostly either lying in lounge chairs or chatting by the edge of the deck, leaning against the railings. It’s warm out, but not uncomfortably so, and Louis feels well hidden and comfortable behind his sunglasses.

“Look,” Charles says, pointing to a group of girls by the railing. They’re all sipping something out of real pineapples, which looks exactly like something Louis was hoping to do on this cruise. “Find us some chairs, I wanna go find out where they got those.”

Louis hums his agreement and Charles runs off, leaving him alone to scope out two lounge chairs beside each other. He finds a row of empty chairs facing the right side of the ship and shuffles over to claim them, pulling them close together so no one will come and steal the second chair before Charles comes back.

He keeps an eye out for Charles, doing a bit of people watching while he waits. He’s still a little sluggish and not totally awake, and he just wants Charles to come back with something cold for him to sip on and then maybe to take a nap out here in the sunshine.

Charles finds him a few minutes later, looking too excited about the drinks in his hands. “They’re just smoothies,” he says, handing one over to Louis. “I got a pineapple and mango one, and a strawberry banana one, which do you prefer?”

“Strawberry,” Louis decides, accepting the drink and giving Charles a peck on the cheek in thanks. It’s quite big, and he needs to hold it with both hands to take a sip, but finally he feels like he’s living the real cruise ship life.

Charles gets settled into his chair and Louis reclines in his own a bit, kicking off his sandals and stretching out. Charles brought a book, so Louis doesn’t feel bad popping in his earbuds, and thus goes the afternoon.

He loses his shirt before long, sweat beginning to pool in the dips of his collarbones and under his arms. He didn’t bring any sunscreen, but he doesn’t really mind, letting the sun soak into his skin while he drifts in and out of consciousness.

At some point, Charles pulls one of his earbuds out to tell him he’s going to get some refills on their drinks, and maybe find something to have for an early dinner. There’s a party on the upper deck tonight that he wants to go to, so it’ll be a good idea to eat beforehand, especially if Louis intends to drink as much tonight as he did last night.

Louis doesn’t much mind being left alone, putting his earbud back in and drifting half back to sleep. He’s just about to nod all the way off when his skin starts to prickle, feeling like someone’s watching him, and he peeks one eye open to investigate.

Someone sat down in the empty chair to his right, not the one Charles just vacated, but one that’s been empty all afternoon. Louis doesn’t pay the person any mind, letting his eye fall shut again, but he still feels like he’s being watched, so eventually he looks over and pulls his earbuds out.

The guy blushes, quickly looking away. Louis is about to resume his nap when the guy looks back at him again, and annoyance builds in his chest. 

“Can I help you?” Louis says, pulling his sunglasses down to squint at the guy. He looks vaguely familiar, but Louis can’t place him.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, blushing even harder, even though he’s smirking. “I swear I wasn’t staring.”

“Uh, okay,” Louis frowns, giving him a quick onceover. It clicks in his head suddenly how he knows this guy: he’s the dick from the bar last night, the one dressed like an absolute tit that was flirting with Louis’s boyfriend. Harry was his name, Louis’s pretty sure. What an annoying name.

“I was just wondering if I should wake you or not,” Harry says. “Looks like you’re burning, is all.”

Louis glances down at himself, poking at his tummy and watching the skin change color under his finger. “Oh, thanks man,” Louis says, reaching back to lower his chair all the way down to lay flat and then turning over to let his back have some sun. He adjusts his sunglasses before he puts his head down, hiding his face in his arms, putting only one earbud in so he can keep an ear out for Charles.

He closes his eyes again, but he can still feel Harry’s eyes on him, so eventually he props himself up on his elbows and sighs as he looks over at him.

Harry chuckles, his face beet red now, even as he hangs his head. “Alright, sorry, I definitely was staring that time.”

Louis doesn’t even know what to say to that, his stomach swooping uncomfortably. He wants Charles to come back so he can tell this guy to fuck off, and Charles will stop trying to tell him he’s just a nice guy.

“You’ve a really nice back,” Harry says, like Louis’s shocked silence was an invitation to keep going. “I mean, objectively, you’re very good looking. Kinda hard not to stare at you.”

“Look mate,” Louis says, a bit too loud, before Harry can keep digging himself a very shallow grave. “You’re very nice and all, but I know you know that I have a boyfriend. You were hitting on him just last night,” he says, unimpressed.

Harry goes scarlet, and Louis’s sure he’s reached the deepest shade of blush possible by now. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t remember that,” Harry laughs nervously, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Well,” Louis sighs, not doing anything to disguise how annoyed he is.

“Look, I’m really sorry about that,” Harry says. He sounds genuine, so Louis gives him the benefit of the doubt and keeps listening. “I didn’t know he had a boyfriend, or else I wouldn’t have talked to him at all.”

“I mean, it’s fine,” Louis says uninterestedly. “Just back off, alright? We’re happy.”

“Yeah?” Harry hums, leaning back in his own chair, but still facing Louis. 

“Yes,” Louis says, something weird twisting in his gut at the implication that someone is questioning his and Charles’s relationship. “What the fuck? Why are you even still talking to me, mate?”

“Sorry,” Harry says, smiling a slow, weird smile. He’s so _weird_. “I’m just finding it difficult to walk away from you.”

“You are so _weird_ ,” Louis says, scoffing a little. “Go away, please.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Harry says, sitting up. “But, like, just one more thing before I go. I mean, yeah, I was hitting on your boyfriend last night, but I wouldn’t have if I had known you were in the picture.”

“You already said that, mate,” Louis rolls his eyes. “But cheers, good to know.”

“No, I mean that I wouldn’t have hit on him because you’re _way_ more my type,” Harry says. He sounds so sincere, so genuinely honest, it makes Louis’s blood boil.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Louis spits.

“Sorry, I just had to say it,” Harry says, laughing, gathering his things as he stands up. 

“Get away from me,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Seriously, or I’m going to call security.”

“I’m gone, I’m gone,” Harry says, backing away with his hands up in surrender, infuriating smirk still on his face even though he’s still blushing. “Sorry again.”

Louis watches to make sure he actually walks away, and then turns his head the other way and lies back down. He feels like he’s going to scream, tense and huffy with anger, the opposite of relaxed, like he’s supposed to be. He has no idea who that guy thinks he is or why he thinks he has any right to speak to Louis like that, but he feels violated and objectified and he does _not_ like it.

Charles comes back a few minutes later, two new smoothies and a platter of shrimp in his hands. “Brought a snack,” he says, setting the platter down between their two chairs and handing Louis his smoothie. “Although, you’re looking like a snack right now, yourself.”

Louis laughs, letting some of the tension ease out of his body. “Thanks, love,” he says, taking a long sip of his smoothie and letting Charles feed him a piece of shrimp.

“Seriously, your ass looks so good in those shorts,” Charles says distractedly, popping a piece of shrimp in his own mouth. “Like, so good.”

“So I’ve heard,” Louis mutters, settling his head on his folded arms.

“Hm?” Charles hums, working on breaking the tails off a few piece of shrimp before he lies down again.

Louis doesn’t elaborate, stealing one of the shrimp from him and stuffing it in his mouth. He puts his headphones back in and continues baking in the sun for another few hours, letting his encounter with Harry fade into the back of his mind and eventually out of his head altogether.

-

They head back to their room once the sun starts to set so they can shower and get ready for the party, and Louis’s only dreading it a little. Of course, he always loves a party, but he and Charles operate on a system where they alternate being each other’s caretaker on nights out, and since last night Louis got absolutely smashed, he’s not allowed to drink quite so much tonight so he can be coherent enough to take care of Charles should he need to.

He looks pretty good, if he says so himself; his t-shirt is tight enough to show off his curves and low enough to show off his chest piece, his jeans make his ass look great, and they’re cuffed below his knees to show off his strong legs, as well. Charles is in a simple button down and slim fit jeans, his go to party look, with an expensive looking knock off watch around his wrist.

“Christ,” Charles says, as Louis steps out of the ensuite and into his shoes. “You look amazing.”

“Mm, you have all night to stare,” Louis says, turning his back to Charles to give him his best angle while he pulls his shoes all the way on. “We’re already running late.”

Charles doesn’t argue with that, wrapping his arm low around Louis’s waist as they head down the hall and up the stairs to the upper deck. Normally Louis doesn’t like when they walk so close together like this, but tonight he feels sexy, wants to let himself be shown off.

The upper deck is packed with people, flashing lights and music pounding. Louis already loves it, already wishes he was the one letting loose again tonight.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Louis says, pulling away from Charles’s side and weaving through the crowd to get to the bar. There are people everywhere, hundreds of bodies moving, and Louis can’t wait to be one of them.

He gets a couple of mixed drinks and then skirts the edge of the crowd, looking for Charles. He finds him standing near the edge of the deck with a group of girls Louis has never seen before, laughing like the outrageously flamboyant boy he only becomes around straight girls.

“Love,” Louis greets him, sliding up next to him and handing his drink over. Charles accepts it with a wet kiss to Louis’s cheek.

“Thank you,” he sings, taking a long sip. “Ladies, this is my boyfriend, Louis. Lou, these are some girls I met last night at the bar,” he says, wrapping his arm around Louis’s shoulders and sipping at his drink.

The girls giggle obnoxiously, and Louis tries really hard not to roll his eyes. “Lovely to meet you,” he says distractedly, already looking for a way out.

“Oh my god, I remember you,” one girl says, reaching out to touch Louis’s arm. Louis shoots her a look, but she doesn’t seem to catch on, just keeps touching him even as he angles his body away. “You were _so_ funny last night! Charlie, you didn’t tell us _he_ was your boyfriend!”

Louis glances over at Charles, finding him blushing a little. He hates when people call him Charlie, but right now he’s just laughing, like he hasn’t a care in the world. Louis hates how fake he acts when he’s trying to impress people, and he doesn’t know why he’s trying so hard to impress a bunch of straight girls, anyway.

“Yup, he’s all mine,” Charles says, turning to look at Louis. There’s a hint of pleading in his eyes, like he’s begging Louis to be nice, and Louis decides to bow out before he goes and offends Charles’s new friends by being rude, or something.

“Right, I’m gonna go have a look around,” he says, patting Charles’s side as he pulls away. He disappears into the crowd before someone can touch him again or keep fetishising him, the way Charles clearly likes. Louis will just never understand how he puts up with straight girls; they make Louis want to tear his hair out.

He spends a little while getting lost in the music, finishing his drink slowly and letting the crowd swallow him up. He doesn’t know anyone here, and he loves that, being just another face in the crowd. He doesn’t have to pretend to be anything or anyone, doesn’t have to act any sort of way. He can just _be_ , and that’s all he ever really wants to do.

Eventually he pushes back through the crowd to the bar, mostly to see if he can find Charles to see how he’s holding up, but also because he kind of wants another drink. He’s been here over an hour and he’s only had one drink, and he thinks he’s pacing himself quite well, deserves another drink for his efforts.

He spots Charles in mostly the same place he left him, dancing with the girls at the edge of the party. He watches him for a few minutes, trying to decide if he’s actually having fun or if he should go over there and save him. Charles seems to be enjoying himself quite a bit, though, and he’s got a different drink in his hand now, so Louis thinks he can afford to have a little more fun on his own before he tries to go get his boyfriend back.

He finds an empty spot at the bar and has a second drink, chatting with some of the people around him and making a few new friends. He meets some guys from London and talks with them for what seems like ages, and he even gets their numbers so maybe they can hang out sometime after the cruise is over.

He loses track of time, ends up having two more drinks instead of just one, and by now it’s late and he hasn’t checked on Charles in quite a bit. He excuses himself from the conversation and slips off his stool, pushing through the seemingly ever growing crowd to find Charles among all the bodies.

The thing about Charles is that he’s way too nice, will get stuck talking to people for hours even when he doesn’t want to talk to them because he doesn’t know how to walk away. Louis is usually the one to save him from those situations, especially in places like these, when Charles finds himself with a group of people he thinks are fun until he spends a little too much time with them.

Louis hasn’t gone terribly far when someone catches his arm and he twirls around, expecting to find Charles behind him. He finds a different face, though, one he can’t place for a moment, and then a sense of dread fills his body.

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling lazily at him. He’s drunk, his eyes glassy and droopy, hair a bit sweaty from dancing. “It’s you! I can’t believe you’re here.”

“We’re on the same cruise, mate, not so hard to believe. Look, I can’t talk,” Louis says, though he doesn’t pull his arm out of Harry’s hand just yet. “I’ve got to find Charles.”

“Why?” Harry frowns, moving a little closer to him to hear better. “Is he alright?”

“Dunno,” Louis says, glancing around again. “That’s why I’ve gotta find him, make sure.”

“Well, can’t you find him after this song?” Harry asks, pouting a little. “I was hoping you’d dance with me.”

He starts dancing then, if you could call it that, moving his hips like a baby deer walking on ice. Louis’s just buzzed enough to be entertained, and even though he absolutely should walk away from this guy, given their history, he doesn’t.

He sighs as he gives in, letting Harry pull him in closer. The music is so loud, and the crowd is hot, Louis has no trouble at all putting his head back and losing himself again.

Louis’s been told he dances like a dad, and maybe that’s true, but Harry dances like he’s absolutely sloshed, which he is. It makes Louis laugh, the way he flops around, a smile on his face like he has no idea how silly he looks.

One song turns into two, which turns into five, which turns into a half hour and Harry pressed up against Louis’s back, singing badly in his ear. Louis’s just having fun, laughing and dancing and hardly thinking at all, until finally there’s a brief pause in the music and he turns around to face Harry.

“Alright, I’ve gotta go find my boy now,” he says, backing away. Harry looks a little frustrated, a little like he wants to protest, but he doesn’t.

“I’ll help,” he says, but it comes out so slurred Louis knows he won’t be any help at all. “If I find him I’ll tell him you’re worried.”

“Thanks, mate,” Louis chuckles, finally turning away and pushing through the crowd. He looks up and finds the pair of eyes he’s looking for staring right back at him, entirely unamused.

“There you are!” Louis says, pushing the rest of the way out of the crowd and over to Charles. “Been looking for you for ages.”

“You weren’t looking very hard,” Charles mutters, glaring at Louis like he’s done something wrong.

“What?” Louis says, taken aback. 

“You got all rude and weird and wouldn’t let me talk to that guy at the bar last night, and now you’re out here dancing with him like he’s your bloody boyfriend or something?” Charles says, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s visibly furious, and Louis’s heart sinks a little. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, reaching out to get his hands on Charles, try to ease his mind. Charles just steps away from him, though, and Louis scrambles after him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I swear, I was looking for you, and he found me and begged me to dance with him. He’s fucking smashed, Charles, he wouldn’t let me walk away,” he says. It’s mostly true, but Charles doesn’t seem to be buying it.

“Whatever,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he storms off. Louis runs after him, but Charles is quick, and Louis follows him all the way down to the main deck, the loud party behind them and leaving his ears ringing and his heart racing.

Charles lets Louis catch him near the railing, where he slows to a stop looking out at the water. Louis shuffles up behind him and wraps his arms around him, holding him close for a few minutes and kissing the back of his neck. Charles lets him, thankfully, but he’s stiff in Louis’s arms, looking the other way and watching the few other couples scattered around the deck, all of them talking close, or kissing.

Louis doesn’t say anything for a bit, mostly because he doesn’t have anything to say. Charles has no reason to be upset, but he doesn’t know how to tell him that, so he just keeps holding him until Charles talks first.

“Do you love me, Lou?” he asks finally, quietly, his voice almost disappearing in the cool air.

“Of course I love you,” Louis says immediately, holding him a little tighter.

“Sometimes it just doesn’t seem like you do,” Charles says, dropping his head and leaning back against Louis’s chest a little more. 

“You know I love you, I tell you all the time,” Louis says, hooking his chin over Charles’s shoulder. Charles doesn’t say anything, and Louis’s stomach sinks. “I tell you all the time, don’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Charles breathes, turning around in Louis’s arms and burrowing into his chest. His nose is cold, Louis can feel it against his collarbone, so he only hugs him for a moment before he pulls away to talk.

“Let’s go back to our room, yeah?” he hums, rubbing at Charles’s back a little. “We can watch a film, or just go to bed, whatever you want,” he says.

Charles just nods, pulling away and straightening up a bit. Louis curls an arm around him, because he knows Charles likes to be coddled when he’s upset, and leads him down the stairs to their room.

He catches sight of Harry before they duck down the stairs, watching them from the railing of the top deck. He looks confused, and a little bit sad, but Louis doesn't pay him any mind. He’s done enough damage tonight.

He leads Charles all the way into their room, helps him get undressed and into his pajamas, and then brings him to the bathroom to help him brush his teeth and wash his face. Charles is a little more drunk than Louis originally assumed, and he’s unsettlingly quiet, watching Louis with hazy, watery eyes until finally they climb into bed and Charles curls into his chest like a cat.

He turns on the telly and flips through the channels for a bit, finding some random sitcom and letting the sound of it fill the room. He plays with Charles’s hair for a bit, because he knows he likes that, and right now he just wants to soothe him, reassure him.

This is perfect, Louis thinks. He’s going to propose to this boy in just a few days, and he doesn’t even think Louis loves him. This is absolutely, completely perfect.

Charles falls asleep on him quite quickly, his body mostly on top of Louis’s. Louis wants so badly to move away, to get out from under him, to at least get Charles’s head off his chest because his drool is seeping through Louis’s pajama top and into his skin and Louis might actually throw up if it doesn’t stop. He can’t move away, though, can’t roll Charles over, because if Charles wakes up and Louis isn’t still holding him, he’s going to put it in his head that Louis really doesn’t love him and then he’s going to say no when Louis proposes and this is all going to go to shit.

Eventually he just turns the telly off and tries to get as comfortable as he can, removing Charles’s hand from where it’s resting on his stomach because it’s making his muscles jump, and not in the good way. He manages to drift off to sleep after nearly an hour of staring at the ceiling, sleeping through the night despite the fact that he just wants a shower and some personal space.

-

Louis wakes up tangled in the sheets, sprawled out on his back and halfway off the bed. He usually prefers to sleep curled up in a ball on his side, because otherwise he wakes up with a knot in his lower back, like he has right now.

He groans a little as he rolls over, feeling his spine pop a couple times. He’s such an old man, honestly. He’s just about to call out for Charles to ask for a massage as he settles on his side, jumping when he catches sight of him sitting up at the end of the bed.

He’s got his legs pulled up to his chest, his hair all a mess like he hasn’t even gotten out of bed yet. He’s just sitting there watching Louis with his chin resting on his knees, and he only blinks when Louis looks at him.

“Bit creepy, love,” Louis says, smiling tiredly. “Watching me like a serial killer.”

Charles smiles a little, unfolding himself and crawling back up the bed. “Sorry,” he mumbles, tucking himself into Louis’s arms.

Louis holds him close, even though they both need a shower and a toothbrush. “What do you want to do today?” he asks, glancing up and out the window. It looks a little dark, a little overcast, but it’s not raining. 

“Kinda just wanna stay in bed with you all day,” Charles says, wrapping around Louis like an octopus. Louis just laughs softly, letting Charles nestle into his chest.

“That sounds lovely, but I’m probably going to die of starvation soon,” he says. 

“Room service,” Charles says, voice muffled by Louis’s shirt.

Louis considers it for a moment, tracing his hand down Charles’s spine. “Are you upset about last night?”

Charles goes absolutely silent, holding his breath against Louis’s collarbone. “Dunno.”

“When you asked if I love you,” Louis says, quiet, unsure. “You- I mean, you weren’t serious, right?”

“Yeah,” Charles says quickly. “I mean, no, no. No. I know.”

“You know what?” Louis says, staring straight ahead at the wall and counting Charles’s breaths. He just wants to hear him say it.

“That you love me,” Charles says. “I know you love me.”

Louis hugs him a little tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Let’s go get breakfast.”

They get ready quietly, pulling on their swim shorts in case they decide to go to the pool after they eat. Charles keeps casting these sidelong glances over at Louis and Louis’s starting to get squirmy, wanting to make it stop.

He thinks he’ll propose tonight. Charles is all soft and unsure, and Louis thinks it’ll be the perfect way to show him that he really is in it for the long run. They can get all dressed up and go to the nicest restaurant on the ship, and maybe then Charles will stop looking so much like a kicked puppy. He’ll be so happy and surprised, and Louis can stop feeling so terrible for something he doesn’t even really remember choosing to do.

They have their breakfast in a little American style diner off the main deck. Charles just sticks with eggs and toast, boring as ever, and Louis gets a stack of waffles nearly as big as his head. Louis does everything in his power to lighten the mood while they eat, and by the time they’re done, he has Charles laughing again like nothing ever happened.

Maybe Louis should be more concerned that what happened last night was enough to fuck Charles up this much. Maybe he should try to focus more on making sure their relationship is as strong as he wants it to be, instead of trying to fix it with a proposal. Not that that’s why he’s proposing, of course; he loves Charles, and Charles loves him, and once they’re married, everything will be fine.

It’s a bit chillier out today than it has been, the wind a little too cool even though the air is muggy and thick. Louis feels clammy as they leave the diner, like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin.

“I think we should go to the hot tub,” Charles says, huddling into Louis’s side. He seems to be back to normal, Louis thinks, clingy as ever.

“Sounds lovely,” Louis hums, “I woke up with a knot in me back.”

Charles frowns, rubbing Louis’s back as they head toward the back of the ship, where the swimming pool and hot tub are on the back deck. Louis wants to pull away and just walk on his own without Charles constantly touching him, but he thinks now isn’t the time.

It’s a pretty small ship, only a couple thousand passengers, so it really shouldn’t come as any surprise that they might run into the same people every now and again, but still Louis isn’t expecting it when Charles’s breath catches as they approach the hot tub.

“Oh, hello,” he says, sounding surprised.

There’s only one guy in the hot tub at the moment, and he looks up at the sound of Charles’s voice. Louis’s blood turns hot when he sees who it is, nearly turning on his heel and dragging Charles right back out of the room.

“Hi,” Harry says, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Are you two following me?”

“Hardly,” Louis mutters, and Charles elbows him. Charles is terrified of confrontation, and even though Harry very nearly caused them a major fight last night, Charles seems to have no qualms climbing into the hot tub with him.

“It is odd that we keep running into you,” Charles says, dropping his shirt on a chair by the edge of the pool deck and settling down in the water. “I suppose the ship is smaller than we think.”

Louis hesitates to get into the hot tub, standing there fully clothed just watching Charles and Harry have a laugh. He doesn’t really wanna take his shirt off, doesn’t want to get in with them, but Charles gives him a look and waves him closer.

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls his shirt off, determinedly not looking at Harry as he steps up into the hot tub and settles down next to Charles. Harry is almost directly opposite him, Charles just to his left, and he’s never felt so stiff and uncomfortable in his life.

Harry looks smug, eyes glued to Louis. Charles either doesn’t notice that anything weird is happening, or he’s doing an incredible job pretending.

“Did you have a good night last night?” Harry asks, like he doesn’t know, like he didn’t watch Louis chase Charles out of the party, like he didn’t almost ruin everything.

“Brilliant,” Louis says, before Charles can say anything. “You were pretty sloshed, hm?”

“Yeah, can’t really remember much if I’m honest,” Harry says. “I don’t think anything catastrophic happened, though, so I guess I’m safe,” he jokes.

Louis rolls his eyes a little, even as Harry smirks at him. Something about Harry makes him feel nervous and uncomfortable, like his stomach won’t settle, his pulse won’t slow. He settles for reading the pool rules sign on the opposite wall from the tub, ignoring Harry completely.

Charles keeps chatting to him, amicable as ever, while Louis tunes them both out. He gets lost in his thoughts, composing his proposal speech for tonight in his head, forgetting that Harry is even there.

Eventually he gets cold, as the wind keeps blowing, hitting him where his neck and shoulders are still out of the warm water. He sinks down a little and moves to put his feet up on the opposite seat, flinching when he accidentally brushes Harry’s thigh with the side of his foot.

Harry’s either naked or wearing the shortest shorts in the world, because in the drawn out millisecond that Louis makes contact with him, he feels nothing but skin for miles. He jerks his foot away and crosses his ankles, scrambling a little to tuck himself into Charles’s side when Harry’s eyes meet his own, that nightmarish smirk spreading over his lips again.

Charles wraps his arm around him casually, still talking, clueless as to what just happened. Louis is frozen in Harry’s gaze, trapped staring back at him for however long Harry holds the eye contact, too afraid to be the first to look away. The few seconds feel like hours, and Louis’s heart is racing, until eventually Harry looks back at Charles to hear the rest of whatever story he’s telling.

Louis feels ill. What’s wrong with him? Why is he feeling this way over a complete stranger, a creepy, almost predatory one, at that? He drops his eyes to the water and counts the minutes until he can convince Charles they should go, forcing himself to focus on the feeling of Charles’s fingers tracing patterns over his naked shoulder and nothing else.

Harry’s eyes keep flicking over to him, Louis can feel it, but he doesn’t react. Harry seems to think that Louis is just playing hard to get, or something, but Louis doesn’t want to be gotten at all, especially not while Charles is right next to him. Jesus, he’s going to propose to the boy next to him tonight, but all he can think about is inching his foot back over to touch Harry’s thigh, just to see how he would react, just to see if Harry would play along, touch him back, keep it going.

He needs to get himself off that train of thought immediately, so he takes the first lull in conversation to try and figure Harry out. Maybe if he can confirm to himself, and to Charles, that Harry is just a creep, they can move on and spend the rest of this cruise in places where Harry isn’t.

“So Harry,” he says, staring up at him bravely. Harry smirks at him, sinking down just an inch, spreading his arms out over the side of the hot tub. God, his biceps are huge. God, why is Louis looking? “Why are you on this cruise all alone?” he asks, in the most condescending tone he can manage.

“My friends bought a ticket for a single’s cruise for my birthday back in February,” he says easily, unaffected by Louis’s tone. “It was kind of a joke, since I’ve never been in a serious relationship, and, like, the implication that I was never going to find anyone before July, when the cruise was scheduled. I traded the ticket for this cruise, instead, since a single’s cruise sounds horrible, and since this cruise is happening the same week, no one knows I switched,” he says.

“You’ve seriously never been in a relationship?” Charles asks, sounding shocked. Honestly, Louis’s a little surprised, too. “How is that? You’re so attractive.”

Harry grins, eyes flicking back to Louis’s again. Louis rolls his eyes as hard as he can manage. “Honestly, I’m not really sure. Never found the right person, I suppose.”

“You’ll find someone, I’m sure,” Charles says, tugging Louis a little closer and squeezing his shoulder. “There’s someone out there for everyone, I think.”

Harry just hums, the smile fading from his face a little as he watches Charles hold Louis so close. Louis feels like he can’t look away from Harry’s face as Harry’s eyes trace every place Charles is touching Louis’s body, like the sight of it is making him sad.

Louis shifts to wrap his arms around Charles’s middle, getting as close as he can be, resting his head in the curve of Charles’s shoulder. Harry swallows and looks away, and Louis feels like maybe he finally has the upper hand, has finally found a way to silence him.

“Well, anyway,” Louis says after a long moment, the awkward silence starting to get under his skin. “I was thinking of taking Charles to a fancy dinner tonight, you know, get all dressed up and everything, so we should probably be on our way,” he says, looking up at Charles.

Charles frowns at him, shaking his head a little. “Lou, it’s like, noon.”

“Oh,” Louis blinks, glancing over at Harry.

“Won’t you guys sit with me just a little longer?” Harry asks sweetly, staring into Louis’s soul again, back on top. Louis’s blood boils. “I quite enjoy your company.”

“Of course,” Charles says, even though Louis pinches his thigh under the water. “We really don’t have anywhere to be until later, apparently.”

Louis falls silent again for a while, staring off into space while Harry and Charles keep chatting. Harry’s flirting pretty obviously with Charles, blatantly trying to get Louis’s attention, but Louis doesn’t even glance at him. He’s being a massive creep, and so fucking annoying, but Louis knows the second he looks at him his stomach will get all fluttery and weird again, and his mind will start thinking those thoughts again that make Louis feel like he’s losing control. He stares down at the foam from the jets in the water and watches it swirl around for nearly another hour, until finally Harry gives up and starts shifting around.

“Well, this has been nice, but I should get going,” he says, finally gaining Louis’s attention. He smirks at him immediately, and Louis’s heart jumps a little for no reason. “I have a date tonight.”

Louis rolls his eyes yet again, though he’s careful not to let Charles see. Of course Harry has a date tonight, and he’s still being creepy to Louis. He really is a scumbag. Louis doesn’t know why his skin tingles when Harry brushes against his leg climbing out of the hot tub.

“Good luck!” Charles calls after him, smiling cheerily. Louis wants to jump off the ship. “Maybe we should go back to our room now, too? Start getting ready, since apparently you’re taking me out tonight,” he teases.

“I am taking you out tonight,” Louis says, sitting up and stretching his limbs. It’s freezing when the wind hits his wet skin, so he hurries out of the tub and grabs his towel. “Gonna show you a good, classy time.”

“Wow, I can’t wait,” Charles grins, wrapping himself in his own towel and collecting both of their shirts. “I can’t remember the last time we went on a proper date.”

“I take you on proper dates all the time!” Louis argues, leading the way out of the pool area with his towel wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Taking me to Nando’s and then falling asleep on the sofa ten minutes into a film is not a date,” Charles says, unamused.

“Sure it is,” Louis says, “you love carrying me to bed.”

“Oh, sure,” Charles rolls his eyes. “I love carrying your corpse-like body from the sofa to bed and tucking you in only for you to roll over and complain that I woke you up.”

“To be fair, you’re not terribly gentle,” Louis says, shrugging one shoulder. Charles scoffs, laughing as he pushes him lightly. 

Louis calls the first shower when they get back to the room, so Charles goes off to find them something light to eat for lunch while he waits. Louis takes his time, since they have quite a while until dinnertime, and when he’s done Charles has half a sandwich waiting for him in the bedroom.

He eats while he gets dressed, waiting for Charles to get into the shower before he sneaks the ring out of his suitcase and into his jacket pocket. It’s starting to feel real, and he’s starting to get nervous, the hard edge of the jewelry box pressing against his hip. He does his hair and then spends a few minutes pacing around the room, thinking about what he’s going to do and if he’s actually going to be able to pull this off.

Charles spends forever in the shower on any given day, so Louis supposes he has a while to think before he comes out, but he’s too antsy to just wait in the room. He slips his shoes on and grabs a key and slips out the door, deciding he just needs a little walk to clear his head.

He wanders up to the main deck, watching his feet. What if he’s making a mistake? What if in a few days he decides this isn’t what he wants? Worse, what if Charles says no? What if Charles doesn’t want this? They’ve talked about getting married before, yeah, but what if Charles doesn’t think it’s the right time? Or what if he gets scared when Louis asks and says no? What if they break up, and then they’re trapped together on this cruise ship for another four days?

Realistically, Louis knows everything is going to be fine. Charles loves him, and Louis loves Charles, and they’re going to get engaged and then probably have some really great sex tonight, and everything will be fine. Louis can finally be sure he has the stability that he’s always wanted, that he can settle down and keep being comfortable with Charles for the rest of his life.

But is that what he really wants? He’s 26 years old, he’s only ever dated one person, and he’s about to commit to him forever. Is this really what he wants? Well, yeah, he’s always dreamed of finding someone to love and settle down with and have a house and a family and a life. He knows that that’s what he wants. But does he want it with Charles? Is Charles really the man of his dreams, or is he just a convenient landing place? If Louis leaves him and tries to find something better, will he realize Charles was the best he could have had? What if he makes a mistake? What if proposing is a mistake?

He walks all the way to the railing at the front of the ship, leaning against it and staring out at the water. The sea is quite rough, waves breaking forcefully against the bow of the ship, making the railing shake a little each time. The sky is darker now than it was earlier, getting more and more gloomy by the moment. It’s definitely going to rain soon, but that might be quite romantic.

Maybe after he’s popped the question, they can come out here and dance in the rain like some kind of cheesy movie. Louis’s always liked the rain at night; it’s peaceful, and it makes everything so soft and calm. But, then again, it’s also quite gloomy, isn’t it? The sky just opens up and dumps rain down on the Earth, and the sun is nowhere to be seen, and sometimes it seems like the sun will never come back up. It can be so depressing when you’re trapped inside for so long because it just won’t stop raining, and there’s nothing you can do but wait for it to stop.

He thinks for a moment about spending every rainy day for the rest of his life with Charles, and the thought makes his chest feel tight in a way he can’t figure out.

He looks up the sky, marveling at the way it doesn’t seem like he’s moving under it at all. He can physically feel the ship moving forward, pushing through the water, but when he looks at the horizon, he never gets any closer to it. He feels so fucking trapped, like he’s just stuck desperately trying to push forward, but the horizon isn’t getting any closer because it’s not a physical place he can get to. It makes his breath catch, makes his stomach turn like he’s sea sick, suddenly.

He takes a deep breath, surprising himself with how shaky is, and pushes himself away from the railing without actually letting go of it. The air tastes thick and salty and so, so heavy, weighing down on his lungs and making it hard to breathe. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, and then to five, and then to three, and then opens them again. 

He needs to stop thinking, or he’s going to end up throwing himself over the side of the ship. Maybe he should just go back to the room, find something on the telly, and wait until Charles is ready to go to dinner. Maybe he should just keep going the way he’s been going until now: following the motions, going with the flow, numb.

He catches sight of someone standing a few feet away from him as he turns to leave, and he startles when he realizes the person is watching him. He sighs deeply when he realizes it’s Harry, shaking his head. He’s not in the mood for this right now.

“What the fuck are you doing,” he says, his voice a little more quiet than he expected it to be.

“I was staring at your ass from a distance, but then I decided to get closer so I could stare at your face, instead,” Harry says, shrugging one shoulder. “Can’t decide which is prettier.”

“God, you’re such a fucking creep,” Louis breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face as he turns away. 

Harry laughs, reaching out to stop him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just joking,” he says. He sounds genuine, but Louis still doesn’t trust him.

Louis could walk away still, but he doesn’t. He sags back against the railing and looks up at the sky, wondering why his feet won’t take him back to his room.

“You look stressed,” Harry says, frowning when Louis glances over at him.

“I’m not stressed,” Louis says, because he’s not, not really. “But, I’m also not, like, _not_ stressed,” he mutters.

“Right,” Harry says, confused. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You don’t even know me,” Louis says, looking over at him. If he’s not mistaken, it seems like Harry is actually being nice to him right now, which is a change of pace.

“That might make it easier for you to talk to me, then, right?” Harry shrugs.

Louis watches him for a long moment, considering, and then sighs. What the hell, right? “I’m gonna propose to Charles tonight,” he says. “And I guess I’m just- kind of scared,” he admits.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long moment, turning to stare out at the water. “Scared he’ll say no?”

“No, not exactly,” Louis says, frowning as he considers it. “Though that’s definitely part of it.”

“Scared of the commitment, then?” Harry asks, still not looking at him.

“I mean, no. Like, I love the idea of being married, and I want to settle down for sure, and have kids and a house and a job and a steady life, and I want to grow old with someone and share everything with that person. I’m definitely not afraid of commitment, but, I don’t know, maybe I’m just afraid of commiting to him, specifically,” he says. Once it’s out in the open he feels like jumping over the railing, but he lets it hang there for a long, silent moment.

“Woah,” Harry says finally. “That’s fucked, mate.”

“Hence why I’m hanging over the side of a ship beating myself up over it,” Louis mutters, turning around to rest his elbows on the railing, rubbing at his face.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a minute, but finally he takes a quiet breath and asks, “do you want me to weigh in, or should I just be a listening ear?”

Louis’s thankful that he asked, honestly, but he really, really doesn’t know what he wants.

“Can you just make it all go away, please?” he says, his voice quiet and sad, a little more broken than he intended.

Harry doesn’t say anything, but Louis waits. He waits until it’s clear that they’re done, and he nods once as he straightens up and turns to head back to his room.

Harry grabs his arm before he can take even one step, pulling him back and turning him around. Louis nearly stumbles into him, catching himself quickly and looking up at Harry’s face.

“Don’t,” Harry says, quietly. He looks more sincere than Louis’s ever seen him, and for once he doesn’t look like a total asshole, like an absolute creep. He looks honest, and worried, and Louis’s heart throbs.

He just blinks up at him, trying to figure out what Harry means, but his brain feels like it’s made of soup.

“Don’t propose to him,” Harry clarifies, and then bites his lip, like he’s afraid of Louis’s reaction.

Louis blinks again, and then frowns. “What?”

“If you’re not completely sure about him, don’t propose to him. You might regret it, and that’s enough reason for you to not do it, I think,” Harry says. “And you’re so young, you don’t have to do this now. You might find someone else, or... Like, at least just wait until you know him better, and you’re either absolutely sure of him, or you realize you can do better,” he says. Louis’s acutely aware of the fact that Harry is still holding his arm, his grip tight, but not enough to hurt.

“We’ve been together six years, how much longer can I wait?” Louis says, staring up at Harry, actually waiting for an answer. He just wants to be told what to do, wants the decision to be made for him, and right now, Harry feels like the only person who can do that for him. 

“Jesus,” Harry mutters, “You’ve been together six years and you’re still not sure about him?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, frowning slowly. He looks down, realizing how bad that sounds now that he’s said it out loud.

“Look, I really don’t want to overstep my boundaries here, but Louis, don’t propose to him. It’s obviously not right,” Harry says, huffing a breathy little laugh like it’s really as insane as it seems that they’re having this conversation right now.

Louis is quiet for a minute, and then he looks up at Harry’s face again. “You’ve been nothing but creepy and predatory to me since the moment I met you, why should I trust you now?” he asks, not accusing, just curious.

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighs, shaking his head. “I swear that Isn’t really me, honest. I was just having some fun. Or trying to, anyway. My friends tell me I’m too nice and sweet, and people don’t want to date me because I’m not forward enough, so I acted like an asshole to overcompensate. I was hoping for mutual banter from you, and I went too far, and I didn't know how to reel it in, and now I just look like a dick. I also had no idea that you were on this boat to get engaged, and now I feel really bad, but I also feel like I can’t let you do this, even though I hardly even know you,” he says quickly, like all the words want to get out at once.

Louis just blinks again, looking down and thinking for a few moments. Finally he steps away a little, giving Harry a sad little smile. “Well, thank you, I guess,” he mutters.

“Glad I could help,” Harry says, giving him a sad little smile in return. “And, like, sorry. You know, for everything,” he says.

Louis nods, backing away a few more steps before he turns and heads back for his room. He’s not sure how much Harry actually helped, because his brain feels even more muddled and confused than before.

The thing is, Harry doesn’t know him. Harry doesn’t know anything about him, or about Charles, or about their relationship. He knows what it looks like from the outside, and he knows the bare minimum of how Louis’s feeling, because Louis just told him, but he doesn’t know how complicated it is. He doesn’t know that if Louis doesn’t settle down now he might never get to. He doesn’t know that Louis isn’t even really sure he knows what love is. He doesn’t know that Louis’s choices are to either propose to Charles tonight, or upset his plans for the rest of the life.

And, honestly, what does Harry know anyway? How is Louis supposed to believe that story he just fed him, that the Harry Louis met isn’t the real Harry? Louis only knows the Harry that makes disgusting comments, that flirts with him to make him angry, flirts with his boyfriend to get under his skin. He knows the Harry that thinks it’s funny to be a creepy asshole, to make Louis uncomfortable just by looking at him. Fucking hell, what was Louis thinking? He can’t trust that man for a minute. He can’t trust anything he says. In fact, he should do the complete fucking opposite of whatever Harry says. He needs to propose, or else Harry will have won, will have succeeded in tearing his relationship apart, tearing his _life_ apart.

He’s made his decision by the time he gets back to the room, touching the felt box in his pocket with his fingertips as he opens the door. Charles is nearly done getting ready, all dressed and done up, in the middle of doing that artfully messy thing with his hair that Louis likes so much.

“There you are,” Charles grins, spotting him through the open bathroom door. “Thought you got kidnapped, or something.”

“Didn’t get kidnapped,” Louis assures him, leaning against the doorframe and watching Charles finish his hair. He takes forever just poking at it and moving it around, until finally he’s satisfied with it.

“Are you ready to go?” Charles asks, scooting around him to get out to the bedroom. “I just need to find my shoes.”

“Give me, like, ten minutes,” Louis says, closing himself in the bathroom and leaning his forehead against the door. 

He’s gonna do it. He’s going to fucking do it.

He strips his jacket off and turns on the tap, splashing some water on his face and rubbing at his eyes. He brushes his teeth because he doesn’t know what else to do, fixing his hair because Charles looks really, really good tonight and Louis wants to look good, too. He tries to fix his hair into that little cinnamon swirl thing that Lottie does every time they go somewhere fancy, and he thinks he mostly succeeds, but it doesn’t look nearly as good as it does when his sister does it.

When he’s wasted enough time he finally lets himself out of the bathroom, finding Charles sitting on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone. “Ready?” Charles asks, looking up at him, a slow smile spreading over his face. “You look lovely.”

 

“So do you,” Louis hums, holding his hand out for Charles to take. “I love you,” he says, because he feels like he has to, his stomach filled with sharp-winged butterflies. 

“I love you too,” Charles says, like Louis just made his day. He probably did, as well, which is the sad part.

Louis amps himself up on the walk to the restaurant, and by the time they get there, he’s talked himself all the way into this. He’s going to propose because he _wants_ to propose, and nothing is going to stop him now.

They’re seated near the back of the restaurant, near a window that overlooks the open sea. The restaurant is quite dim, even though it’s barely gone 5:00 in the evening and the sun hasn’t even set. The floors and tables are all dark hardwood, with big, red curtains covering most of the windows. 

Louis pulls Charles’s chair out for him before he sits himself, and Charles looks delighted. “Quite the gentleman this evening,” Charles says. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Louis says, smiling his most innocent smile. “I’m always the picture of chivalry.”

“Sure,” Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “This place looks amazing, Lou.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Louis says, glancing around. “I did a pretty good job.”

“And humble, too,” Charles jokes, sipping at the glass of water in front of him. 

There’s rain falling outside now, pelting quietly against the window next to their table. Louis finds himself watching it for a long few minutes, lost in his head, until he realizes Charles is watching him with a tiny smile on his face, like Louis hung the moon in the sky himself.

He thinks Charles might be catching on to what’s going to happen tonight. Louis doesn’t plan to ask the question until after they’ve eaten dinner, but Charles already looks soft and hopeful, like he can tell Louis’s planning something really good.

Louis feels anxiously giddy, nervous and excited at the same time, his stomach turning a little when he thinks about what he’s going to do. Charles does a lot of talking to fill the empty air and Louis doesn’t do a lot of listening, bouncing his leg under the table and feeling the ring box bouncing against his thigh.

The storm gets worse pretty quickly, until the rain is coming down in sheets and there’s thunder so loud Charles has to stop what he’s saying because he can’t even hear his own voice. The ship is getting bounced around a little in the rough waves, but the waiters in the restaurant seem completely calm, so everyone else is calm, too, eating their food as if nothing is wrong even though the chairs keep sliding around a little, dishware clattering on the tables.

Louis doesn’t eat much, too anxious to even think about finishing the plate of chicken and vegetables he ordered. Charles seems to be enjoying his food, but he’s not the one that has to ask the most important question of his entire life in a few minutes. 

He takes a couple of false starts during lulls in conversation, telling himself _okay, now_ only for Charles to start talking again and ruin his momentum. He kind of wants to scream, he’s so nervous, and finally Charles falls quiet for a moment and Louis is so sure, feels so comfortable with this boy and knows that he feels comfortable with Louis, too, and everything falls into place.

He reaches out to take Charles’s hand where it’s resting on the table, his heart beating in his throat as he wraps his other hand around the jewelry box in his pocket. “Charles,” he says, taking a deep breath to center himself so he can get out the small speech he has planned.

Charles melts, like he knows exactly what’s happening, and bites his bottom lip so hard it turns white. _Go_ , Louis’s brain tells him, and Louis smiles as he pulls the box out of his pockets and opens his mouth to tell Charles that he loves him, that he’s always loved him and always will love him, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with him, wants to buy a house and start a family with him, wants to grow old with him and die in his arms. His throat feels like it’s closing, but he opens his mouth anyway, voice shaking as he begins, “Charles, I-”

He cuts off abruptly when something hits the ship, making the whole thing list suddenly. It sounds like an explosion, like the side of the ship has been blown off, and the lights flicker out and there’s nothing but rain for a split second until deafening, Earth-shattering thunder. 

The entire restaurant goes still for a couple elongated seconds, like everything is in slow motion. Charles’s face switches from pure joy to absolute terror in less than a second, his hand gripping Louis’s so hard it hurts as they count to one, two, three.

A siren blares from overhead suddenly, making Louis jump and then freeze with fear. He doesn’t know what’s going on, doesn’t understand what’s happening, how a moment ago he was proposing to his boyfriend and now said boyfriend is yelling, tugging him out of his chair and dragging him through the restaurant, joining the throng of people fleeing the room and rushing down the stairs to the main deck.

There are crew members running around like ants, handing out life jackets and telling people to make room on the deck for other passengers. It’s absolute chaos and Louis can’t even think, can only just make his legs move as Charles grabs two life jackets for the both of them and then drags him over to the right side of the ship, gripping the railing.

Louis still has the jewelry box in his hand, gripping it for dear life as Charles tugs the life jacket over his head and tightens it for him. Louis just watches as Charles does his own right after, grabbing Louis’s hand again as soon as he’s done and meeting his eyes.

Louis can’t even react, is too shocked and terrified to process what’s happening. He hears people crying around him, hears children screaming for their parents, families frantically searching for each other in the chaos. Charles presses Louis against the railing with his body so they’re out of the way, and so that they won’t get separated, safe for now.

It sinks in slowly, the fact that the ship is going to sink. The fact that all of these people might die right now, and Louis is going to be one of them. He chokes a little and pulls Charles a little closer, terror tensing his entire body.

At the sound of Louis starting to lose it, Charles breaks. He sobs into Louis’s ear, tucking his chin over his shoulder and holding him so tight it hurts, still gripping the railing so they won’t be knocked over as another wave hits the ship, making it tip even more. 

Louis forces himself to look around, to try and understand what’s going on. There’s smoke billowing from the opposite side of the ship, like something’s on fire, and it’s bad. The rain is still absolutely torrential, but the air smells like burning metal and smoke. Louis blinks the tears out of his eyes and glances over his own shoulder, realizing that the ship is listing a lot, the side of the ship much higher above the water than it should be. They’re on the higher side of the deck, since the ship seems to be taking on water where the lightning hit, but if they don’t start getting in lifeboats now they’re all going to get thrown into the water when the boat tips any more. 

The thunder is still deafening, nearly constant, lightning flashing in the sky every few seconds. Charles is wailing into his neck, and Louis’s starting to break down as well, whimpering quietly as he watches the people running around him, trying desperately to find a place along the railing to cling to.

Louis catches a pair of eyes before long, and his heart drops into his stomach. It’s Harry, only a few feet away from him. He looks desperate, terrified, so young, and he’s crying too, Louis realizes with a jolt to his heart. It makes him lose whatever composure he had left, watching Harry standing there, completely alone, sobbing as another wave hits the ship and makes it list even more.

He keeps his eyes locked with Harry’s, because if he can make Harry feel even a little bit more secure right now, he wants to. He doesn’t even like the guy, hardly even knows him, but he can’t imagine being alone in a situation like this. 

Eventually he chances another look around, seeing that people are being pushed into lifeboats, or the lifeboats that are left. Some of the boats on the other side of the ship are on fire, and others are just too crowded, and people are screaming and fighting and the crew can’t do much to stop them.

They’re going to die, Louis realizes, all of them, because no one can seem to get it together enough to figure this out before the whole fucking ship goes down. 

It seems like hours, but he knows it’s only a few minutes, and the ship is going down fast. Finally a crew member comes in their direction and starts directing people into the lifeboats, seemingly with no order or method at all. They’re separating people, Louis sees, forcing them into different boats, and he sobs as he reaches into his pocket again and grabs the jewelry box, forcing it into Charles’s pocket.

“I love you,” he breathes, but Charles doesn’t seem to hear him, still just sobbing into his neck. Someone comes along and tears him out of Louis’s arms, and after that, it’s all a blur.

Louis is forced into one boat, and Charles into another. Louis watches Harry get forced into the same boat with Charles, and before the boats are even all full, they’re lowered down. Louis’s boat goes quickly, way too quickly, but there’s nothing any of them in the boat can do to stop it.

Charles and Harry’s boat starts coming down a second later, but they’re also moving too quickly, and one of the ropes gets stuck while the other keeps slackening. The entire boat tips and everyone in it goes tumbling out, but Louis’s too far away to keep an eye on Charles, to know if he’s alright.

Louis thinks he’s screaming, but everyone around him is shushing him, trying to get him to shut up. Their boat still hasn’t even hit the water when another wave hits the ship and rocks it violently, making the lifeboat swing away and then slam back into the side of the ship.

The bottom of the boat splinters, and then the entire thing just drops into the water. It starts filling with water immediately, and everyone in it is losing their minds, and Louis just closes his eyes and waits to die.

The boat flips over, somehow, and then everything is silent. Louis is under the boat, he knows that much, but he doesn’t know which way is up, he thinks he might be upside down, and everything is dark. Someone kicks him in the face and he cries out, wasting all of his breath, and he’s still fighting to get his head above water as his lungs start burning, his body getting too tired too quickly. 

He manages to break the surface of the water a moment later, gasping and flailing a little as he looks for something to hold onto. His life jacket is only doing so much to keep him afloat with a hundred other people frantically splashing around and the waves crashing over them, and Louis is gonna die, holy fuck, this is how he’s going to die.

Their life boat is in pieces, and without thinking, Louis grabs one piece of the wood and starts swimming. He uses the wood as a kickboard and just goes, trying to get away; he’s seen _Titanic_ , and he knows that if he stays near the ship, he’s going to get sucked down with it as soon as it goes under, and he doesn’t want that at all.

He keeps swimming, still crying, his mind blank of everything except fear and the overwhelming need to get away. He keeps swimming until he can only just hear the people screaming from behind him, and then he hides his face in his hands and sobs until he can’t anymore.

It’s still raining, and all he wants is to go home. He wishes he never got on that fucking ship in the first place, god fucking damnit, and now he’s going to die out here in the ocean by himself and he doesn’t know where Charles is, or where Harry is, or if either of them are even alive. It’s dark, the sun suddenly gone from the sky like it’s the middle of the night, and Louis wonders how long it’s really been since the lightning first struck.

He clings to his piece of wood for hours, floating a couple hundred feet away from the ship, crying into his hands. He only looks up when everything is quiet and has been for a while, and he doesn’t hear a single voice anymore.

Finally he turns around, shocked to find he can’t see the ship anymore. It’s gone, completely gone, and there are only a few lifeboats floating around in its place. There are people in the water, too, but there’s not a lot of them, and Louis can’t even imagine how many people have just died.

It’s not cold out, so he doesn’t think anyone will freeze to death, which is promising. They all have life jackets, as well, so no one that’s still alive will drown. Maybe they’ll be rescued, somehow. Maybe the ship was able to call for help before it went down, and someone’s on their way now, and Louis will be home by tomorrow.

He stops swimming for a moment and just assesses his situation, taking inventory of his body. He’s floating alone in the ocean, God only knows where, and there’s no land around him. All he has is this piece of wood which, when he looks at it, is really quite big. He could definitely climb up on top of it, he thinks, and again, like, he’s watched _Titanic_ , and that’s how Rose lived, isn’t it?

He hoists himself up onto the wood, and though it flips a few times and he’s frustrated and still fucking crying, he finally gets himself up on top of it and gets steady. It’s not terribly comfortable, but at least he’s out of the water, and less likely to, like, be eaten by a shark or electrocuted if lightning strikes the water near him or something.

He does his best to stay somewhat near the other boats and people, just in case someone does come to rescue them, but he doesn’t let himself get too close. He’s terrified that Charles and Harry haven’t made it, and if he gets too close, he’ll have to find out. Realistically, he knows that there are only about 30 people in the water with him, and there’s a very, very small chance that any of them are Charles or Harry.

The storm clears up slowly. The thunder and lightning stop early on, and the rain gets lighter and lighter until finally it stops altogether. It’s a little funny, he thinks, how a couple of hours ago there was a whole ship right here, and now it’s gone without a trace, just like the storm.

Now that Louis’s no longer immediately afraid that he’s going to die, he lets himself float a little closer to the other people in the water. He chews harshly on his lip as he moves in, trying to get a good look at the people floating in the water.

He realizes with a start that most of them are dead, only still floating because their life jackets won’t let them sink. He looks up at the boats in horror, begging silently that there will be someone willing to help him, but almost every single person in each of the boats near him is either already dead or bleeding, dying slowly. He doesn’t bother looking at the other boats, squeezing his eyes shut quickly.

He grits out a new round of sobs as he pushes himself away, using his hands to paddle his piece of wood as quickly as he can go in the other direction. It’s so fucking dark out, the clouds still covering the moon and all of the stars, and Louis almost wishes he could just die and get it over with.

He puts his head down on the wood, focusing on breathing for a long while. He tries to ignore everything going on around him, the sound of people still crying from the boats, and eventually, blessedly, he falls asleep, and no one calls out to him, or comes to help him at all.

-

He wakes up with a shriek, as his piece of wood flips with a perfectly timed wave and sends him tumbling into the surf. He gets a mouthful of sand and a noseful of water, and he sits up spluttering, trying to wipe his face clean before all of the sand can go in his eyes. 

It takes him longer than it should to realize he’s sitting up on solid ground, and he yelps in surprise. He scrambles to his feet and finds himself in about knee high water, and when he turns around, he’s greeted by the sight of a completely empty beach.

Hope swells in his chest and he grabs his piece of wood, darting out of the water and up onto the dry sand. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, or any hint of civilization at all, but he doesn’t let all the hope leak out of him. There has to be someone here, right? Maybe he’s just washed up on a private part of the beach, or something. There are probably a bunch of houses just around the corner, just behind the tree line.

He leaves the wood in the sand and goes to have a look around, wandering down the beach a few feet and trying to peer through the trees. He doesn’t exactly feel like getting lost in the woods, so he decides to just walk the length of the beach, instead. He keeps an eye on the tree line, just in case he spots some hint of mankind, but the longer he walks, the more discouraged he begins to feel.

There’s a massive hill on one side of the island, and the beach closest to it is a bit more rocky than sandy. It doesn’t look quite like a mountain, but it’s definitely bigger and a bit steeper than any hill Louis’s ever climbed. There are less trees as the hill gets higher, which he thinks is a little odd, but he pays it no mind as he keeps exploring the beach.

It takes nearly two hours, but finally Louis spots something on the beach a few hundred yards up, and hope swells in his chest again. It doesn’t look like much, but if it’s any sign of civilization, he’ll take it.

He runs to it, slowing to a stop as he comes upon it, his entire chest deflating. It’s his goddamn piece of wood from the lifeboat, and he’s just come back to it from the other side, which means he’s walked the entire perimeter of the island. There’s nothing on this island, no humans, anyway, and it’s quite small, from what he can tell.

He shouts a little and kicks at the sand, resisting the urge to break down crying. He feels like he’s in a film, like any moment Tom Hanks will come scuttling out of the woods with a bloody volleyball and tell him he’s dreaming, or something. 

Fuck it, he thinks, looking back toward the treeline. If he gets lost in the woods and dies in there, he supposes it won’t be any worse than dying out here, since he’s sure that’s going to be his fate, anyway. He sets off into the trees and gets down to exploring, finding that the trees are much less thickly packed than he expected, and it’s not too hard to wander around.

The sun is almost directly overhead, which he thinks means it’s either just before noon or just after. He has no idea which way is north or south, and the compass tattooed on his arm does him little good right now. He spends a couple of hours probably walking in circles, following the base of the big hill to the other side of the island and finding himself back on the beach, looking at his own footprints.

He keeps exploring the woods until he finds something, because there has to be _something_ of value in here. All he finds is a tiny, shallow creek that leads to a tiny, shallow pond, and after a few minutes staring into it, he spots a few fish swimming around near the bottom. He can also hear birds chirping over his head, which means he’ll have to get good at hunting, but he’ll be able to eat while he’s here. That is, if he doesn’t decide to go drown himself instead.

He thinks maybe he should work on catching a fish and having something to eat, because he’s quite hungry. He didn’t get to eat much last night at dinner, what with the nerves and then the ship sinking, which-

Oh. This, he realizes, is real life. This is really happening to him. He’s really stranded on a desert island, and he’s all alone, just him and a bloody piece of wood. It makes him want to freak out, kind of, but he doesn’t, because that won’t do him any good. He needs to find some food, and then a place to sleep, because he’s exhausted and he feels like he’s concussed, maybe, and he’ll figure this all out when he wakes up.

He trudges back out to the beach and finds his piece of wood, sitting down beside it and emptying his pockets. He’s still in his dress trousers and a button down shirt, his jacket torn and ripped up and still soggy. He slips it off and rests it on the piece of wood to keep it from getting all sandy, looking at the small pile of things he’s ended up with here.

There’s a soggy box of ruined cigarettes, his damp, destroyed leather wallet that Charles got him two Christmases ago, and the lighter he bought in Paris a few summers ago because he forgot his own at home before they left for holiday. He spends a little while despairing over all the things he lost on the ship; all his favorite clothes, his glasses, his bloody fucking boyfriend who he was in the middle of proposing to. He nearly breaks down yet again, until it clicks in his mind that he has a lighter, and he won’t have to make fire with two sticks, or something.

“Yes,” he breathes, grabbing the lighter to make sure it works. He puts it out as soon as the flame catches, because he doesn’t want to waste it. He’s had this lighter quite a while, and he’s sure there’s not much juice left in it, but it will probably last him a couple weeks, at least.

He treks back into the woods to see about catching a fish, perching himself on a rock at the edge of the pond and looking around for a moment. There’s a broken stick on the ground that looks like it will maybe be sharp enough to stab a fish, so he picks it up and narrows his eyes, trying to find a target.

He doesn’t have his glasses with him, and he didn’t bother wearing his contacts out to dinner, so he’s a bit handicapped as he stares into the pond, but finally he spots a fish and readies his weapon. It takes more than a couple jabs into the water but finally he injures it, and from there he’s able to stab it all the way through and pull it out triumphantly.

“Got you, bitch,” he grins, trying not to look at the fish’s face as he clambers off the rock and scurries back to the beach. He collects a few sticks and leaves and starts himself a little fire, roasting the fish over it for a long while, unsure of how to tell when it’s finished.

He spots something in the water out of the corner of his eye, and his heart leaps when he sees that it’s a lifeboat, perfectly intact, floating a few hundred yards out from the island. It’s slowly coming in with the waves, and it’s too far out for him to go fetch it now, but he keeps an eye on it while he finishes burning his fish.

The boat keeps inching closer to the island, and Louis doesn’t dare let it leave his sight while he picks at the fish, eating the parts that don’t make him want to gag. Having a boat could be good, he thinks. Maybe somehow he’ll figure out where he is and how to get back to civilization, and he’ll have a boat to get there. At the very least, he can turn it upside down and sleep under it.

Finally the boat comes within reach, so Louis puts his fish down on the wood to keep it out of the sand and runs down to the water to get it. He has to wade out until he’s about waist deep, but finally he can reach out and grab the boat, and he starts pulling it back to shore before he realizes there’s a body in it.

He screams reflexively, shoving the boat away and covering his face with his hands. He didn’t consider that all those dead bodies from the wreck would start washing up here, just like he did, and it seems the first one has arrived.

That is, until the body shouts, too, and Louis’s blood runs cold. He whips around, expecting a ghost, or a zombie, or some other horror scenario, but his brain goes a bit blank when he realizes what’s actually happening.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, shaking his head slowly. “Oh my god, it’s- you’re alive.”

“What’s going on,” Harry says, looking confused, still terrified. “Where the fuck am I?”

“Harry, fuck, you’re alive,” Louis laughs, overcome with relief at the promise that he doesn’t have to survive on this island alone, he can work together with someone, someone he knows, at that. “I washed up here earlier, it’s nearly evening now.”

“Christ,” Harry mutters, glancing around. “Christ. Help me get this goddamn boat up to the beach, then.”

Louis grabs the side of the boat again and tows Harry up to the sand, helping him step out and then dragging the boat all the way up until it’s on the beach, dropping it next to his dying fire and half eaten fish.

“Nice place you have here,” Harry says, voice a little tight. He’s trying to be casual because he’s about to shatter into a million pieces, Louis can tell, so he goes along with it, pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Thanks, it’s pretty great. You can have the rest of that fish, if you want. You must be starving,” he shrugs.

Harry accepts immediately, sitting down by the fire and picking up the fish. Louis throws a few more twigs and leaves into the fire to keep it going and then sits down across from Harry, staring at his knees for a while.

Harry puts the fish down after he’s eaten the rest of what was edible, and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “That was disgusting,” he says, but he’s still licking his lips like he wants more. Louis doesn’t blame him; he feels like he could eat a horse and still be hungry, and he doesn’t quite know what to do about it.

“Yeah, I know. Bit limited, here,” he shrugs.

“Have you looked around?” Harry asks, glancing over at the trees. “Is this an island? Are we the only ones here?”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Louis says, pulling his knees up to his chest. “The island is tiny, and there’s literally nothing and no one here.”

“That’s fantastic,” Harry says, scoffing quietly. “Fucking fantastic.”

Louis nods, watching him for a long moment. Harry drops his eyes, freezing a little when he sees Louis’s wallet and the box of cigarettes on the sand. “Is that everything you had on you?”

“And a lighter,” Louis says, patting his pocket. 

Harry nods, pursing his lips. “I don’t wanna- um, you don’t have to tell me, or anything but, like… did you get to, you know… did you decide to propose?”

Louis’s stomach drops, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “Didn’t get the chance,” he says, hardly speaking loudly enough for Harry to hear him.

“But, um, you were going to?” Harry asks.

Louis doesn’t look up, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah. As soon as I started the ship got hit by lightning.”

Harry groans, rubbing at his face. “I’m so sorry, mate.”

Louis nods, opening his eyes just to stare at the fire. “This is, like, literally the most horrible thing in the world, you know? I don’t even know if he’s alive now. I didn’t get to tell him how I felt, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him because somebody tore me away from him and put me in a boat that ended up breaking, and I have no idea where he ended up,” he says, voice breaking. 

He hasn’t had a good cry since last night, when he was still in the middle of things, but he doesn’t want to do it now. It would probably help to make him feel a little less tight, a little less bottled up, but he doesn’t want to cry in front of Harry, he doesn’t really want to cry at all. He holds his breath until the feeling passes, putting his head down on his own knee and looking out at the water.

Harry curls in on himself, too, turning fully toward the ocean and staying silent. They sit like that for a while, just letting it all sink in, until finally Harry speaks.

“If you could,” he says, voice muffled by the way he’s speaking into his knees, “would you want to know what happened to him?”

“Yes,” Louis says immediately, even though he’s not really sure he means it. It’s not like it’s possible, anyway. “I’d kill for some closure, even just to know for sure if he’s, you know, gone. I hate just sitting here and wondering.”

“He was in my boat,” Harry says, miserably. Louis’s body goes rigid, and he suddenly remembers watching Charles and Harry being pushed toward the same boat. “One of the ropes got caught on the way down, and the whole thing tipped over.”

Louis remembers watching that boat tip over, remembers everyone spilling out of it. He hides his face in his own lap, biting on the material of his trousers as Harry keeps talking.

“I was in the front of the boat, and I managed to hold on until it got down to the water and leveled out. No one else was so lucky, though. Charles- shit, Louis, I can stop-”

“Tell me,” Louis says, but he’s already crying, voice shaking dangerously. “Please.”

“Charles fell headfirst,” Harry says, even more quietly than before. “He hit the side of the ship on the way down. By the time I got down to the water, he was already dead.”

Louis sobs, hugging his knees tightly to his chest, his body shaking. Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him, and Louis can’t bear to cry in front of him, doesn’t want Harry’s comfort or his attention or anything else from him, bloody hell.

He pushes himself to his feet and walks down to the water, sitting down in the shallow waves and letting himself cry. The waves wash over his legs, splayed out in front of him, and Louis wishes they’d take him with him when they washed away, just pull him into the sea and make it all stop hurting so much. 

He can’t stop picturing it now that he knows what happened. He hates it. He knows he asked for it, but god, he wishes Harry didn’t tell him. 

Harry doesn’t follow him, which Louis appreciates. He really just wants to be alone right now, doesn’t want to admit that Harry’s the only person he has right now, doesn’t want to admit that any of this is real. They’re going to be stuck here for a long fucking time, maybe forever, until they both die, and it’s a sickening thought.

Well, Louis thinks morbidly, he always did love the idea of spending the rest of his life with just one person, growing old and dying beside someone. This isn’t exactly the way he pictured it, but beggars can’t be choosers, can they?

He calms himself down eventually, picking himself up out of the water and dusting some of the wet sand off his ass. It’s nearly dark, and the tide seems to be coming in, which might mean that they’ll have to get off the beach soon.

He finds Harry a bit further up the beach, hunched over something a few yards from the fire. He frowns as he approaches, watching him for a moment. It appears he dug a hole in the sand, and he’s got a bunch of big leaves from the trees along the beach; he’s stuffing the leaves into the hole, like he’s lining it, and then he ties another to a stick with a piece of vine and half buries the stick in the sand so that the leaf hangs over the hole. He looks so focused, like whatever he’s doing is absolutely vital, and Louis can’t help but laugh.

“What on Earth are you doing?” he asks, making Harry jump.

“I saw it in a movie, I think,” Harry says, turning back to his creation. “You put seawater in the hole, right, and then the sun will cause it to evaporate and stick to the top leaf, here, and the salt stays down in the hole, and then you put a jug or something here, so that the clean water drips off the leaf and collects in the jug,” he says proudly.

“That’s… kind of brilliant, actually,” Louis says, frowning at the contraption. “I hadn’t even thought of finding clean water.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, grinning smugly at Louis. “I know.”

“Right,” Louis rolls his eyes a little, looking up at the trees. “I’m going to go try and find a place to sleep.”

He sets off without another word, leaving Harry to work on his contraption. He wanders through the part of the woods he didn’t explore yet, which is mostly just the slight incline at the bottom of the hill, but maybe there will be something they can sleep in or under. He finds a few small caves near the bottom of the hill, but when he climbs a little higher, he finds an opening just big enough for him to crawl into.

The cave is a little bigger on the inside than the opening would have you assume, and Louis doesn’t see any sign of it being a home to any kind of animal. He hasn’t seen a single animal all day, except the fish and the birds, so he thinks it’s safe to assume that this cave is alright for them to stay in for a bit. It seems pretty dry, and once they’re in here together, it’ll probably be warm enough. The ground is just dirt, but that’s better than it being rocks, Louis thinks.

He goes back to the beach to grab his piece of wood to use as a door, just in case something tries to come visit them in the night. It seems like a pretty alright place to stay once he’s done, and he’s pleased with it, running back to the beach to tell Harry they’ve got a place to stay.

Harry’s not sitting by his contraption anymore, and Louis frowns, scanning the beach for him. The beach isn’t terribly big, and he can’t imagine where Harry’s gone, until he spots him wading out into the water, already up to his shoulders.

Louis’s first thought is that Harry’s going to kill himself, that the gravity of their situation just hit him and he’s going to let himself drown. His blood runs cold, dread pooling in his gut, and he just starts running, screaming for Harry to stop.

Harry turns around frowning, looking at Louis like he’s got three heads. “What the fuck?” he calls, shaking his head.

“What are you doing?” Louis screams, still running on adrenaline, stopping at the edge of the water.

“There’s something floating,” Harry says, pointing to something that’s still a few yards out, drifting in with the tide. “I wanna see what it is.”

Louis blinks, huffing quietly. “Oh,” he says, backing up from the water and waiting for Harry to come back, dragging the floating object behind him.

“It’s more wood,” Harry says, “I think the broken bits of the boats are coming in. There’s a couple more, but they’re too far out to reach.”

“Cool,” Louis says, his heart still pounding in his chest. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, trying to meet his eyes. “What the hell did you think was happening?”

“I don’t know,” Louis mutters, looking away. “I thought you were gonna, like, drown yourself, or something. It scared me.”

Harry blinks, looking down at the wood he’s still dragging behind him. Louis just stares out at the horizon, praying that Harry won’t make a snide comment, and finally Harry sniffs and moves away.

“Well, we should keep collecting this wood as it comes in,” he says, dropping the piece of the boat in the sand a bit further up the beach. “We can use it to make a shelter, or something.”

“Oh,” Louis says, pouting. “Well, I was just coming out here to tell you I found us a cave to sleep in tonight, but if that’s not good enough for you…”

“You found _us_ a cave?” Harry says, smiling slightly when Louis looks over at him. “You’re gonna let me sleep with you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Louis frowns, doing his best to ignore the innuendo, because for some reason it makes his stomach flip a little. 

“I kinda thought you hated me, is all,” Harry says. “I was an ass to you, you said it yourself.”

“Well, I’ll admit I’m not your biggest fan,” Louis says, “but like, now you might as well be the last man on Earth, and you’re kind of my only hope of staying alive, and sane, so I suppose we should try to be friends, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry grins, looking genuinely delighted. “Alright, cool.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon hauling wood out of the water, making a nice little pile on the beach. They probably have about two boat’s worth of wood, which is quite a lot, and most of it is broken and splintered, but Harry seems to think he’ll be able to do something with it.

There’s other stuff that washes up, as well, things that came out of the lifeboats. They collect a couple of first aid kits, three massive wool blankets, and a couple of life jackets. More and more stuff washes up as the tide comes in, and it’s like Christmas, until the first body washes up.

Harry finds it, as he’s the one in the water, pulling things close enough to the beach that Louis can take them and pull them the rest of the way while Harry grabs something else. Louis hears him scream and drops the piece of wood in his hands, turning around to find Harry scrambling out of the water.

“What?” Louis asks, catching Harry as he throws himself at him. “What is it?”

“A guy, it’s a man,” Harry says, pressing his face into Louis’s shoulder. “Oh my god, I grabbed his foot.”

“Shit,” Louis breathes, hugging Harry because he’s demanding to be held, crowding against Louis’s chest like he’s trying to climb inside him. “Shit, oh my god.”

“Ew,” Harry whimpers, letting Louis hold him for another moment before he pulls away and glances back toward the water. “What do we do?”

“Harry, what if-” Louis can’t even finish the sentence, staring in horror at the body as it rolls closer in the waves. “What if Charles-”

“Fuck,” Harry says, cutting him off before he can finish his thought. “Okay, shit. Um, I’ll stay in the water and keep pulling things out, and you go find something else to do. That way, if he does- you know, you won’t have to see it,” he says.

“Thank you,” Louis breathes, hesitating and then giving Harry another quick hug. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stand it, seeing Charles like that. He’d lose his mind. He doesn’t quite know how to say that out loud, but Harry seems to get it.

Harry wades back into the water, carefully avoiding the body, and Louis turns away quickly. He works on pulling the pieces of wood just inside the tree line, to keep them safe, carefully keeping his eyes away from the water.

He finally heads back down when it starts to get dark, the sun beginning to set on the horizon. Harry is still in the water, and by now there are a couple of bodies on the beach, and Louis keeps his eyes determinedly away from them.

“Hey,” he calls, startling Harry from where he’s just standing in the water about waist deep, staring out at the ocean. “It’s gonna be dark soon.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, turning around to look at him. “None of them are him.”

Louis relaxes a little, glancing over at the bodies. “Thank god,” he mutters, dropping to his ass in the sand and rubbing at his face.

Harry wades out of the water, sitting down next to Louis in the dry sand. “We need to have a conversation, and it’s not going to be easy,” he says, his voice grave.

“What?” Louis asks, his stomach dropping a little bit as he looks over at Harry. Harry’s eyes are red and bloodshot, like maybe he’s been crying, and Louis feels terrible that he has the job of dealing with these bodies because Louis just isn’t strong enough.

“We only have one outfit each,” Harry says, slowly, carefully. “And, like, not that I care about fashion right now, but these clothes are going to get dirty, and torn, and we’re going to need new ones.”

“Yeah?” Louis frowns, shaking his head. Harry gives him a look, and Louis’s face softens in recognition as he looks back at the bodies. “Oh…”

“Like, I’ve never wanted to do anything less than I want to strip down dead bodies, but I feel like we might regret it if we don’t,” Harry says, wincing when Louis turns back to him.

“No, I agree,” Louis says, rubbing at his face. “God, this could not be worse.”

“We can bury them in the morning,” Harry says, like that makes it better. “Give them a proper burial, thank them for their sacrifice.”

“Jesus,” Louis mutters. He takes a moment to just breathe, talk himself into it, and then pushes himself up off the ground. “Well, let’s do it, then, yeah? Not gonna get any easier.”

Harry groans and stands up, too, following Louis over to where the bodies are, four of them, lying in a row on the sand. Louis just looks at them for a moment, and then at Harry, and then drops to his knees to start.

He apologizes profusely as he does it, a constant stream of “sorry, sorry, sorry,” as he strips the first body out of his life jacket and then carefully removes his clothes, folding them in a pile on the sand. He does his best not to think about it, looking everywhere but at the person’s face, running down to the water to wash his hands as soon as he’s undressed two of the four bodies.

Harry finishes with the other two and then follows him, scrubbing his hands with sand like it’ll make what they just did okay. Louis wants to cry, so he does, splashing a little water on his face to hide it.

“God, I hate this,” Harry says, rubbing at his face with the backs of his hands. “Let’s just go to bed. We can deal with the rest of this in the morning.”

“Works for me,” Louis breathes, trudging back up the beach and into the woods without another word.

Harry follows him to the cave, crawling in when Louis pulls the wood away from the opening for him. Louis hesitates before he gets in, finding a small, sharp rock on the ground and picking it up to carve a small mark into the tree beside their cave. 

He crawls in when he’s done, pulling the wood back over the opening, and settles down beside Harry.

“What’d you just do?” Harry asks, settling against the wall of the cave, looking at Louis’s face in the dark. It’s almost completely black inside the cave, only a tiny bit of light from the setting sun coming in around the edges of the wood in front of the cave opening.

“Don’t wanna lose track of time,” Louis says. “Maybe it’s pointless, but I’m gonna carve a mark in that tree every night, before we sleep. That way we’ll know how long we’ve been here. Maybe it’ll help us stay sane,” he shrugs.

The cave seems a lot smaller now that there’s two people in it, but Louis lies down anyway. Harry eventually shifts to lie down next to him, their shoulders touching.

Louis is starving, and he feels like he’s never going to be able to fall asleep, but he rolls onto his side to face the wall and closes his eyes anyway. He counts his breaths for a long few minutes, until Harry’s voice interrupts him. “Hey, Louis?”

Louis blinks his eyes open, rolling over again carefully to face Harry. Harry rolls onto his side, too, and Louis can just barely see the light reflecting off his eyes in the dark.

“I’m sorry about the way I acted on the ship,” he says. His voice is so quiet, so honest, it makes Louis’s heart hurt a little bit. 

“What do you mean?” Louis whispers. It’s so quiet, everything is so still, he feels like speaking louder than a whisper will make everything shatter.

“I’m sorry I was so creepy and weird,” Harry says, whispering now, too, “and that I kept hitting on you and your boyfriend. I guess I was just… jealous, maybe?”

“Jealous of what?” Louis asks, a little defensive suddenly, afraid of what Harry’s about to say. 

“I’ve never had a real relationship, or been in love with anyone, and i’ve always wanted to be. So it was just frustrating, I guess to see someone like you, who is just my type, being with someone else. I don’t know, it made me weird, and I regret doing anything to make you dislike me,” Harry admits.

“What do you mean, just your type,” Louis says, moving away an inch. He can’t do this right now; if Harry’s about to start being gross again, Louis will honestly go drown himself.

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs, fidgeting a little. “You’re cute, and charming, and pretty, and you light up a room so easily, and you’re loud and your personality is so, _so_ big, and I’ve always dreamt of meeting someone just like you,” he says.

“So you’re saying you’re into me in more ways than just leering and staring at my ass?” Louis asks, but it doesn’t come out quite as harsh as he intended. It sounds more soft, like he actually cares about what Harry thinks. Does he?

Harry fidgets again, chuckling sadly. “Yeah, I mean, I was, but like, obviously things are different now,” he says.

“Why?” Louis asks quickly, frowning in the dark.

“Well,” Harry sighs, “for one thing, the person you love just died in the most brutal and tragic way possible, and now we’re stuck on a desert island together, and we’re each other’s only chance for survival. I don’t know, things are just different. I mean, you’re still my dream guy, but we both have a lot more on our plates right now than finding true love, or whatever, so I mean, it doesn’t have to be anything or mean anything. It’s whatever, I’m just sorry I was such an ass about it,” he says.

Louis’s quiet for a long few minutes, letting all that sink in. Harry’s really, genuinely into him. Harry really wanted to be with him, at least at one point, even if it wasn’t completely serious. He feels weird, now, squirmy and unsettled, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice.

Harry closes his eyes, clearly thinking that the conversation is over, since Louis hasn’t said anything for quite a bit. Louis isn’t done, though, he has a few things to say, he just can’t figure out what they are.

“Is that why you told me not to propose?” he asks, watching Harry’s eyes snap open again. 

“What?”

“Is that why you told me not to propose? Because you were into me?”

“What the fuck?” Harry splutters. “No, Jesus, I told you not to propose because you didn’t seem like you really wanted to marry him,” he says quickly.

Louis sits up, angry and uncomfortable, glaring down at Harry. “I did want to fucking marry him,” he grits out.

“Okay,” Harry says, cowering a little. “I’m sorry, I believe you.”

“Everyone has doubts when they’re about to make a decision like that,” Louis says, his voice cutting through the silent air like a knife. “It’s normal, it doesn’t mean I didn’t want to marry him.”

“Okay,” Harry says again, sitting up. “I was wrong.”

“And who are you to make a decision like that about me, anyway? You don’t know me, you don’t know how I felt about him, you don’t fucking know anything,” Louis spits.

“Okay, Louis, I know, I’m sorry,” Harry says, reaching out for Louis’s arm. Louis slaps him away, all but growling.

“You fucking told me not to propose to him, like you’re some kind of authority, like I even _wanted_ your opinion,” he says, bordering on shouting now.

“I asked if you wanted my opinion,” Harry says, “and you said yes.”

“I would have fucking married him!” Louis shouts, livid that Harry keeps interrupting him. “I would’ve fucking started a family with him, and spent the rest of my life with him! You almost cost me that future!”

“Louis, stop,” Harry says quietly. Louis knows he’s right, he’s too angry for the wrong reasons, but he can’t stop.

“You think you can fucking tell me what I feel or don’t feel, and tell me how to live my life? You almost stopped me from fucking proposing to the person I love! Do you know how fucked up that is? And now you’re telling me you’ve been into me the whole time? How am I supposed to know whether you were trying to break up my marriage because you thought it was actually in my best interest, or if it was for your own selfish reasons? Well, fucking guess what, Harry, I wouldn’t have fallen for you anyway, even if you had convinced me not to propose, and I broke up with him. I _never_ would have fallen for you because that’s fucked up, that’s so _fucking_ fucked up, Harry-”

He cuts off with a hiccup, so worked up he’s nearly crying, just screaming in Harry’s face. Harry actually is crying, Louis can see, and it makes a sick feeling of satisfaction curl in Louis’s stomach.

“Louis, please,” Harry says, his voice tiny. “That’s not what I wanted, ever.”

“No,” Louis scoffs. “You know what? Fuck you. I can’t believe you made me doubt my relationship for even a moment, and now he’s gone and I’m never going to get him back, and all I want is to hold him and tell him I love him and you made me doubt that,” he shouts, the first tear dripping down his own cheek.

He’s vaguely aware that he’s putting all of this in his own head, but it feels so much better to be angry than to be sad, and he doesn’t want to stop. He keeps swearing, cursing Harry’s name, sobbing and telling Harry to choke, even as Harry moves closer and holds him. He holds Louis so cautiously, just letting him cry and scream and get it all out, and it’s the most terrible, therapeutic breakdown Louis’s ever had.

Eventually Harry lies back, still holding Louis close, and lets Louis cry and swear and scream into his chest all he wants. Harry doesn’t say anything, and eventually Louis just cries himself to sleep, still all curled up in Harry’s arms, one hand fisted in his t-shirt.

It gets cold when it’s dark, but Harry holds him all night long, and it ends up being a lot less miserable of a sleep than either of them could have anticipated.

-

Louis wakes up still curled into Harry’s chest, looking up to find Harry still sleeping, frowning at his dreams. He pulls away carefully, slowly, making sure not to wake Harry as he crawls away from him and out of the cave.

He doesn’t let himself think about what happened last night. He’s not ready to deal with that, to think about how crazy Harry probably thinks he is. Louis owes him an apology, but he’s not quite sure he wants to bring it up again to apologize.

A few more things washed up on the beach during the night, but they’re far enough away that Louis can’t tell what they are, and he doesn’t want to go find out on his own. His little fire pit and Harry’s water contraption got washed away by the tide, so they’ll have to rebuild them, which is annoying, but it could be worse. 

He collects a few rocks and some sticks to make a new fire pit, and then heads in the direction of the pond in the woods to catch some fish. He works on his strategy, stabbing the fish at angle instead of straight on, and he manages to catch two good sized fish rather quickly. Maybe Harry can Macgyver him some kind of fishing pole, but for now, this will do.

He carries the fish back to the beach, finding Harry standing down by the water, looking distressed. Louis tries to make some noise so Harry will notice him, and Harry whips around immediately.

“Fuck,” Harry says, marching up the beach to where Louis’s sitting down next to his new little fire pit, closer to the treeline so that the waves won’t wash it away again when the tide comes in. “You scared me. I didn’t know where you were.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, not looking directly at him. “Woke up early, so I thought I’d go get us some food.”

“Oh,” Harry says, eyeing the fish Louis’s carrying on two sticks. “Good. Thanks.”

Louis hands over one of the fish and reaches for the lighter, getting the fire started and settling down in the sand. Harry sits down across from him, holding his fish over the fire and watching it silently.

“We’re gonna have to find a new way to start fires eventually,” Louis says. He can’t stand this awkward silence. “Lighter’s not gonna last forever.”

“Yeah,” Harry says distractedly.

“Are you alright?” Louis asks. He supposes they’re going to have to have this conversation at some point, so he might as well do it now.

“Yeah,” Harry says, blinking once. “No. I don’t know. I was so worried when I woke up and you were gone, because you were so upset last night and everything, and then I couldn’t find you, and I was worried you’d gone and done something stupid while I was asleep. But then I came out here and there was no sign of you at all, and I started worrying I’d dreamt the whole thing up and I was losing my mind and I’d imagined you and I was actually here by myself the whole time and- I don’t know. Sorry. I’m just spooked,” he mutters.

Louis purses his lips, staring at his fish for a long few minutes. At least he’s not the only one that’s terrified of being alone here.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you last night,” he says finally. Harry doesn’t meet his eyes, so Louis doesn’t make any effort to look at him, either.

“It’s okay,” Harry says quietly.

“No, it’s not okay,” Louis sighs. “We need to be a team if we’re gonna survive this, and I need to be able to control my temper. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m just scared out of my mind, and so heartbroken… and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” he says.

Harry just nods, holding his breath like he’s just waiting for Louis finish. Louis doesn’t really want to have this conversation, either, but he needs to know that Harry is alright.

“You’re allowed to be upset, too, you know,” he says, finally trying to meet Harry’s eyes. Harry just keeps staring at his fish, completely still. “I know this isn’t just hard for me. I know you’re hurting, too. I know you’re in exactly the same position as I am, and I know you’re scared and sad and helpless, too. You’re allowed to be upset, you don’t have to act so strong all the time. You don’t have to just sit around and take it when I’m being vocal about it. You can lose it sometimes, too,” he says.

Harry nods again, but he doesn’t say anything, so Louis drops it. He focuses on his own fish, turning it very slowly, wishing he could go back in time and take back everything he said last night. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry wipe his face quickly, turning away while he does it, like he doesn’t want Louis to notice that he’s crying. Louis figures he’s done enough to upset Harry, so he pretends not to notice, swallowing hard and keeping his eyes trained on his fish.

They eat in silence, nothing but the waves and the sound of the fire crackling filling the air between them. They both get up wordlessly when they’re finished, and Harry goes to inspect what all washed up on the beach during the night while Louis goes to collect the pile of clothes and blankets that need to be washed, bringing them down to the water and cleaning everything as best he can.

Harry comes back after a little while with an armful of new clothes, his eyes red and raw. Louis just watches as Harry drops the clothes into a pile by Louis’s feet, sitting down next to him and staring out at the water.

“I would have helped you,” Louis says, plucking a shirt from the pile and submerging it in the water he’s sitting in, rinsing it as clean as it can be. “You didn’t have to do that all on your own.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, his voice low and raspy, like he’s exhausted. Louis wants to tell him to go have a nap, but Harry gets up before he can. “I’ll go find something we can use as a clothesline, and then I’ll work on rebuilding the water thing,” he says, trudging up the beach and into the woods.

Louis just watches him go, sighing quietly. He finishes washing all of the clothes and blankets and then gathers them in his arms, heading up toward the treeline where Harry’s tied a long piece of vine between two trees for him to hang everything over.

It’s sunny now, so Louis doesn’t think it’ll take very long for everything to dry, but out on the horizon he can see the beginnings of dark clouds, like it might storm later. Harry’s just meandering down by the water, looking for something to do, and Louis supposes they should bury all the bodies scattered around the beach so they don’t have to keep looking at them.

He works on digging the grave with one of the pieces of the broken lifeboats as a shovel, digging out a deep, long trench in the sand while Harry hauls the bodies over. It’s harrowing, the entire experience, but when they’re done everyone is buried, and Louis feels a little less terrible about everything. At least these few people got a proper burial, even though everyone else from the shipwreck didn’t. Even though Charles didn’t.

They spend the rest of the day and afternoon working on things separately, hardly speaking to each other at all. Louis cooks some more fish for an early dinner and Harry eats with him, but Louis gets the feeling he just wants some space today, and he’s willing to give that to him. Harry goes to finish his water contraption when they’re done eating, and Louis heads down to the water to collect some rocks to improve his little fire pit.

Everything is fine until the evening, when the first few raindrops start falling. Louis feels one hit his nose and looks up to find that the dark clouds have moved right overhead, but the worst is still yet to come.

“Hey!” he calls, startling Harry from where he’s hunting around by the treeline, looking for God knows what. “We should get all the clothes and get to the cave before the storm starts.”

“What storm?” Harry frowns, straightening up and peering down the beach at Louis.

“Are you kidding?” Louis chuckles, pointing up at the sky. “Look up!”

Harry’s face falls when he looks up, and Louis sees his lips move in the shape of a curse, but a low rumble of thunder smothers his voice.

“Grab the clothes,” Louis says, scurrying up to the treeline to help him collect everything, which is all mostly dry by now, so they can bring it back to the cave for safekeeping.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a big storm?” Harry asks, as they stuff all the clothes and the blankets into the cave. “Probably not, right? Like, it’ll just be rain, right?”

“Dunno,” Louis shrugs. “I heard some thunder, but it sounded far off. Maybe it’ll miss us,” he says.

There’s another rumble of thunder as Louis’s fixing the wood over the cave opening, and Harry grabs his arm. “Was that thunder?” he asks, eyes wide in the dim light of the cave. “Did it sound close?”

“Woah, are you afraid of thunder?” Louis asks, settling down against the wall of the cave. 

“Not until recently,” Harry says, biting on his thumbnail. “You know, when our fucking cruise ship got struck by lightning.”

“Valid,” Louis hums. He doesn’t feel as affected as Harry clearly is; Harry’s very obviously traumatized, and the sound of the thunder is bringing it all back. Louis isn’t exactly comforted by the sound of the storm, but he’s not nearly shaking in his boots like Harry is, quite literally.

“I should’ve realized it was going to storm, the birds were so quiet today,” Harry mumbles, mostly to himself, staring at the door like he’s expecting it to just blow away at any moment.

“You’re a city boy, Harry, you’re not used to telling the weather that way,” Louis says, trying to comfort him, calm him down just a little, maybe. “We’re gonna be fine, anyway. It’s just a little storm, and we’re totally safe. We can just go to sleep, and by the time we wake up it will be over,” he says.

Harry nods, swallowing hard. It takes a few long, tense minutes before a clap of thunder sounds right overhead and the sky opens up, the rain coming down all at once and drenching the island. Harry yelps and nearly breaks his neck recoiling from the sound, curling into a ball with his head between his knees.

Louis can’t just ignore him, can’t just let him be so scared, so he shifts a little closer, touching his shoulder gently. “You’re alright,” he soothes, wrapping his arm around Harry and pulling him against his side.

The ground shakes with the next clap of thunder and Harry squeals, sobbing into his own lap. Louis panics, hugging him tight, murmuring into his ear the way he did when his sisters used to have night terrors and wake him up in the middle of the night from the next room. Harry doesn’t seem to respond to it, but Louis doesn’t quit, telling him over and over that they’re going to be just fine.

Eventually he reaches for one of the blankets, wrapping it around Harry and then pulling him close again. There are still damp patches on the blanket from not being left out long enough but it’s dry enough, and it still serves its purpose. Harry burrows into the blanket and Louis rubs his back over it, feeling the way his entire body is trembling like a leaf. He shifts after a bit to have Harry rest between his legs, cradled against Louis’s chest, so that Louis can hold him a bit better and rest his chin over his head.

Harry is absolutely pitiful, crying like a child, like he can’t stop, can’t help himself. He’s so terrified, and Louis has no idea what to do for him, other than to keep touching him and keeping him warm and telling him that everything is going to be just fine.

Water starts dripping through the roof of the cave after a few hours, since it’s only made of rocks, and nothing is solid. The cave won’t flood, but it does make everything a bit damp and cold and miserable, so eventually Louis grabs a blanket for himself and bundles up under it without moving Harry from his lap.

He tries to get Harry to lie down so Louis can cuddle him properly, but Harry won’t unclench, so Louis settles for just slouching against the wall a bit and pillowing his cheek in Harry’s hair. 

It goes on all night; every time Louis thinks the storm might be clearing up, another round of thunder starts and Harry whimpers and shakes and cries all over again. He’s so worked up he’s heaving, and Louis’s not going to be pleased if Harry makes himself sick in here.

Louis drifts in and out of consciousness until dawn, when the storm finally dissipates. It’s like it happens all at once, like as soon as the thunder stops, the rain goes with it, and everything is quiet once more.

Harry sags against him, exhausted beyond belief, still hiccuping quietly. Louis shifts to lie him down, still holding him from behind, and falls asleep with his face pressed into the back of his neck. Harry falls asleep almost immediately, as well, despite the water still trickling through the ceiling and continuing to dampen their blankets, and they sleep well into the morning.

-

Louis wakes up to Harry’s voice in his ear, and he reflexively grabs the hand shaking his shoulder. “Shh,” he soothes, until he realizes it’s morning, and Harry’s not upset anymore.

“Wake up,” Harry says softly, smiling when Louis finally opens his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Louis mutters, rubbing at his face as he sits up. “Are _you_ alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry says, blushing a little. “Sorry about last night. I don’t know why it freaked me out so much,” he says.

“I do,” Louis says. “Last time you heard thunder you nearly died, I totally understand why you freaked out. You don’t need to be sorry,” he says.

Harry blushes a little harder, but he smiles. “I think we should go look around. The storm might have brought some more stuff up on the beach,” he says. “If my goddamn water thing is broken again I’m gonna flip a shit,” he promises.

“Really need to find a better method,” Louis chuckles, crawling out of the cave after Harry. He feels a bit like he’s been run over by a truck, probably from sitting hunched against the wall all night, but Harry seems happy and well rested, so he supposes all’s well that ends well.

A few trees came down in the storm, and the entire island is a mess of leaves, but nothing looks too bad. Harry’s water contraption is broken, of course, but there’s a good sized puddle of rainwater in the leaf that’s meant to collect the clean water.

“Dammit,” Harry hisses, squatting to examine the damage. It turns out things made of leaves aren’t terribly hardy in a thunderstorm. “We need something sturdier. And bigger.”

“It seems like it rains a lot here,” Louis says, “maybe we should find something to collect rainwater in? Might be a good backup,” he says.

“That’s exactly what we need,” Harry agrees. “We also need a new place to sleep. That cave is cold and wet, and we can’t stay there forever,” he says.

“I found some clay while I was digging the grave yesterday,” Louis says. “Maybe I could make some jugs? I don’t remember much from art class, but playing with the clay was always my favorite bit,” he shrugs.

“That’ll work,” Harry says. “I think I’ll try to build us a hut of some kind,” he says, glancing at the pile of wood that’s still sitting just inside the treeline. He sets off without another word, disappearing into the woods, and Louis heads down to the beach to start digging for some clay.

They don’t see each other for the rest of the day, each of them busy with their own projects. Louis stays out on the beach for hours, digging until he gets a substantial amount of clay and then sculpting a couple of different jugs, some of them long and shallow, some big and deep. He makes a total of five jugs before he gets tired of it, bringing them over to the fire pit and starting a good sized fire while he lets the clay dry just a little bit. He lays the jugs in the fire for a while, turning them over every now and again, until they’re baked completely hard and feel like real ceramic. He’s pretty damn proud of himself, impressed with his own caveman skills.

He has no idea what Harry’s up to, but he can hear him every now and again, dragging wood around and snapping branches and talking to himself. Louis can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s endeared anyway, somehow. He never thought he’d be endeared by anything involving Harry, but then again, he never thought any of this would happen to him.

To think that Harry was just some random guy on a cruise that Louis wanted to avoid a couple days ago, and now he’s the only person in the world except for Louis himself, and they’re stuck here together, the only two survivors of a fucking shipwreck, well, it doesn’t seem like real life. Louis can’t believe any of this is happening. It feels like it’s all just taking ages to sink in; Charles is dead, and Louis is never going to see him again, even if somehow they do get off this island someday. Louis has no idea how they would get off the island, anyway. Are there people looking for them, or are they just assumed dead? If they do get rescued eventually, what is the rest of his life is going to be like? Will he ever actually recover from this? Is he just supposed to go back to London and try to move on like none of this ever happened? He supposes he won’t have to deal with that, though, because he’s most likely going to die on this island, anyway.

He forces himself off that train of thought pretty quickly, because if he thinks about it any longer he’s going to give himself a panic attack. He sets about transferring the rainwater from Harry’s leaves into the jugs, and he fills about half a jug, which is more than he was expecting.

He thinks he should boil the water to purify it a little before they drink it, even though he’s so thirsty he could drink this entire thing without saving any for Harry. He sets the jug down on top of the fire and lets the water boil for a few minutes, patting himself on the back for the well made jug.

Once the water cools down a little he pours it into two of the smaller jugs, ones that are more practical to drink out of. He tries to keep the portions as even as possible, but the jugs are just slightly different sizes, so it’s hard to tell if he’s completely accurate.

He sets off to go find Harry when he’s done, both to give him some water and show off his handiwork. He’s still smiling to himself when he stumbles upon the little clearing where Harry’s working on the hut, and his smile fades into pure shock.

“Holy shit,” he says, startling Harry where he’s still working diligently. Harry turns to look at him, smiling when he sees the look on Louis’s face. 

“What do you think?” he says, taking a few steps back from what he’s working on and looking it over. “It’s far from finished, obviously, but I think it seems pretty sturdy so far.”

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis breathes, walking around the structure he’s built. He’s got the frame of a little house standing, the pieces of wood from the boats sticking up from the ground to form the four corners, and then a couple more forming an A-frame for the roof. He’s tied them all together with vines, which probably is even harder than it sounds, and it sounds pretty damn difficult.

“I tried to salvage as many of the nails from the wood as I could, but I tied it all with vines too, just to make it extra sturdy,” he says, knocking his fist against one of the boards. The structure doesn’t move. Louis is thoroughly blown away. “Now I’m just working on weaving some branches through the boards to make the walls, which is taking a while,” he shrugs.

“It looks amazing,” Louis says, stepping through what he assumes is the doorway at the front of the structure and looking around. “This is going to be sick. My nine year old self is weeping with joy,” he jokes, glancing at Harry through the unfinished wall.

“Mine too,” Harry grins. “I used to love building forts with my dad. We used to watch all sorts of survival documentaries and things, and we built this sick treehouse in our garden. Mum hated it, thought I was going to come crashing down when the whole thing broke, but it was sturdy as hell. It’s still there,” he says.

“I brought you some water,” Louis says, mostly to get away from that thread of conversation, because Harry’s face turns a little bit sad after he says it. “I’m pretty proud of my little jugs, but they pale in comparison to what you’ve done, I think.”

“They’re brilliant,” Harry says, accepting one of the little jugs and gulping down all of the water in it. “Hey, I think we’re doing alright,” he says after a moment, looking from the jug to the hut and then to Louis. “I think we’re gonna be alright.”

Louis nods, chewing the inside of his lip as he stares at the hut. “I don’t wanna speak too soon, but, yeah. I think we’ll be okay,” he says. Harry grins at him, so Louis smiles back, and it works a little to ease the nerves that constantly eat away at him when he thinks about what’s happened to them. They’re quiet for a minute, just letting it all sink in, realizing that maybe they’re going to be able to survive this. Louis just wishes he knew for how long.

“Right,” Louis says, finishing the water in his cup and then placing it down on the ground, out of the way. “Do you want some help with this?”

“That would be brilliant,” Harry says, putting his cup down near Louis’s and then walking back over to the frame of the hut. “You could go collect some more branches like these, long and thin and somewhat bendy, so I can keep weaving them through the boards. I think I’ve got enough to finish this wall, but there’s still three other walls to do.”

Louis salutes him and sets off into the trees, picking up the longest branches and skinny trees that fell during the storm and dragging them all back to the clearing. He gets to work on the back wall of the hut once he’s got a good pile of tree limbs, copying Harry and weaving the limbs through the four posts that make up the back wall. They work quietly until the evening, when it gets too dark to keep working, and then survey their progress.

They’ve got about a wall and a half done, but they’ll definitely be able to get the rest done tomorrow. The other side wall and the roof need to be weaved with branches, and there’s three quarters of the front wall that need to be done, with space left for the front door. It already looks like it’s going to be a cozy little home, like maybe staying here won’t be so bad, after all.

They have dinner out on the beach, more tasteless, dry fish, and Harry goes over what still needs to be done. “We need to finish the walls and the roof, and then we need to pack it all in with clay to make it sturdy and warm and keep the rain out, and everything. We’ll need to keep sleeping in the cave until it’s completely finished, though,” he says.

“I’m impressed,” Louis says, turning his fish slowly over the fire. “Not to be sappy, or anything, but I’m glad that out of all the people to get stranded on an island with, I got stranded with you. I genuinely think I’d already be dead if it wasn’t for you,” he shrugs.

Harry smiles, blushing a little in the glow of the flames. “Same,” he says, keeping his eyes firmly on his fish and pursing his lips a little to keep himself in check.

Louis has to try to keep himself from smiling too, for some reason, biting his lip as he picks at his fish. “I’m getting seriously sick of eating fish,” he says, to change the subject, because complaining is easier than admitting how lucky he is, all things considered.

“Me too,” Harry says, pulling a face as he checks his fish, making sure it’s fully cooked. “I think if we ever get off this island, I’ll never eat fish again.”

“I need to figure out a way to hunt some birds, or something. Maybe there are some crabs or something around,” Louis says. “Literally anything other than fish will do, honestly.”

“God, imagine a steak dinner,” Harry sighs. “Or even just, like, a piece of white bread.”

Louis moans a little, thinking about it while he takes another bite of fish. “Bread seems like a fever dream right now,” he says. “Imagine having pasta? Or, like, pizza, or something,” he says, pouting to himself at the thought.

“Mate, Pizza Express,” Harry says, whining a little. “A Caesar salad and a Fanta? The thought is, like, literally orgasmic.”

“There’s this pub near me with the best fucking burgers, mate,” Louis says. “I’d kill for one right now.”

“Where do you live?” Harry asks, picking at his fish and taking a little bite, choking it down. “I remember Charles told me you guys live in London.”

“We do, yeah,” Louis says. “We have a flat in Camden.”

“Oh, sick,” Harry says. “I live over in Shoreditch,” Harry says. “We’re pretty close.”

“We are pretty close,” Louis says, frowning. They probably hang out at the same places, frequent the same tube stops, and it’s weird. Louis kind of can’t imagine Harry existing before the cruise, and it’s weird to think that they existed so close to each other. “We used to party in Shoreditch all the time, couple years back. Weird,” he says.

“Very weird,” Harry says, quietly, like it’s all hitting him, too. “Do you think we’ll ever see it again?” he asks after a minute. “London?”

Louis blinks, looking down. They very well could spend the rest of their lives on this island, and they’re both very aware of that. Everyone probably already thinks they’re dead, anyway. Louis’s dog is probably so confused, has no idea what’s happened to him. Their flats are going to be sold, and their families are going to have funerals, and life is going to go on without them. Even if they do get rescued, it’s already been days. The news of the shipwreck has definitely reached London by now. They don’t know if there’s been any effort to look for survivors, but they also don’t know how far away from the wreck they are, or how far people are going to go to look for them, or if anyone even knows that this island is here and, like, it’s very possible that they’ve already looked and stopped looking for survivors, and no one knows they’re out here-

“I don’t know,” Louis says, before he can start spiraling. “I hope so, but I don’t know.”

They stop talking for a while after that, eating quietly and watching the fire. Harry gets up when he’s done eating and walks down the beach a little, lying down in the sand and looking up at the sky. It’s properly dark now, the sun gone and the stars out, and Louis watches him for a minute before he gets up and joins him.

The sand is soft under him as he lies down, crossing his feet at the ankles and resting his hands under the back of his head. They lie in silence, nothing but the sound of the waves to fill the air. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the stars in so much detail,” Harry says after a while. “It’s hard to see them in London.”

It is impressive, Louis thinks, the sheer amount of stars in the sky. There’s no pollution, no light, no clouds to hide them away, and it’s beautiful. He spends a few minutes thinking about it, about how much space there is out there, how every single star has its own solar system, and they’re just two tiny, worthless humans having the worst time of their life, but in the blink of a cosmic eye they’ll be gone, and it’ll be like they were never here at all.

“I’ll be honest,” Louis says finally, his voice startlingly loud, “I’ve never given much thought to the stars. But, like, looking at them now, it really puts things in perspective, you know? Like, we’re both having the worst times of our entire lives and it feels like the world is ending and we’re doomed, but, like, we’re just two tiny people in the grand scheme of things, right? The world is gonna keep going on without us, whether we’re here on this island or back in London or dead, like, the world just doesn’t care about us. And, like, not in the way that it has bad intentions for us, but it just can’t be bothered that we’re living our own personal hell, you know? There’s so much going on out there, and who are we to feel like everything is about us, and to feel like the world has it out for us? In reality, we’re hardly a pinprick of life in a universe that’s so big we’ll never see more than a fraction of it,” he says, frowning up the sky.

“Well, yeah, that’s one way to look at it,” Harry says, sighing a little. “But also, like, I think it’s an excuse to look out for ourselves more, and to make sure that we’re living the best lives we can manage. Because, like, exactly like you said, the universe doesn’t give a shit. No matter what we do, it doesn’t care whether we live or die or the things we choose to do with this tiny and amazingly short life we have. It doesn’t care if we’re happy, or if we’re miserable, or if we’re doing the things we love or living in the places we think are our homes. It just doesn’t care. So maybe that’s all the reason why we _should_ care, you know? Maybe that’s why it’s so important that we love our lives and ourselves and each other. Like, the universe isn’t looking out for us, the universe isn’t deciding a single thing for us, nor does it care to, so why don’t we just take the opportunity to take this giant empty space and fill it with meaning, and love, and all the things that make us happy, right, instead of thinking that nothing matters, so it doesn’t matter if we live or die. Maybe we should think that because nothing in the universe has intrinsic matter, we should make it ourselves, out of the things that make our own lives worth living, look for it in every nook and cranny the universe has given us to explore,” he says. “I think that’s a better way to live than just assuming nothing matters and we’re all just useless blobs floating in a vacuum.”

Louis can’t help but watch him while he talks, resting his head on his own bicep and watching the way Harry’s jaw moves, the way his eyes reflect the stars right back to the sky, thinking Harry’s eyes could give the stars a run for their money. The moon is only a sliver tonight, but it still makes Harry glow, like maybe he’s the missing part, like he belongs right up there in the sky with the rest of the beautiful things. 

Maybe he’s right about searching for meaning in things, for giving things meaning that maybe they didn’t always have. Maybe Louis should be looking harder, exploring everything within his reach. He could definitely reach Harry right now, if he extended his arm, could definitely touch him without straining at all.

Eventually he gets up, brushing the sand off of himself, and Harry follows suit a moment later. They head back to the cave, leaving the fire to burn down to its embers, leaving the imprint of their bodies on the sand where the tide will wash them away before tomorrow, like they were never even there. 

The cave is chilly tonight, and their blankets are still a little damp from last night, so Harry crowds into Louis’s side without a word once they’re lying down. Louis holds him, lets him share his body heat, lets him wrap his arms around his middle and offer up his body heat, in return. It’s the first night neither of them have fallen asleep crying, the silence offering a new kind of protection they haven’t felt before.

Harry’s head is heavy on Louis’s chest, and his hair is so, so dirty, and they both smell like sweat and dirt and burnt fish, but Harry snuggles a little closer and Louis closes his eyes, and sleep is the easiest thing he’s ever done.

-

Louis wakes up first the next morning, a single beam of sunlight seeping in through the crack between the wood and the cave opening and shining right in his eyes. He carefully wriggles out from under Harry and crawls out of the cave, making sure the door is snugly covering the opening so the sun won’t wake Harry as well.

He heads down to the pond to catch some fish for breakfast, even though the thought makes him feel a bit ill. He thinks he’ll spend today trying to figure out a way to hunt birds, so that they can have at least a little variety in their diet.

Harry comes wandering out onto the beach as Louis is in the middle of roasting the fish, looking sleepy and a bit ruffled. He sits down right next to Louis, instead of across from him, and takes one of the fish from him to finish roasting it himself.

“Woke up with my face in the dirt,” Harry mutters, knocking his shoulder against Louis’s. “Thanks for that.”

“Sorry,” Louis chuckles. “I was trying to be nice and let you sleep a little longer. That’s what you get for sleeping on me,” he says.

“You’re comfy,” Harry says, shrugging one shoulder. 

Louis blinks, not quite sure what to say to that. The energy between them feels a bit weird, different than normal, ever since last night. Louis feels he could lean into Harry’s side right now and Harry would cuddle him and it wouldn’t even be weird, which is weird in itself. It’s like something shifted in him while they were talking about the stars last night, and now all he wants to do is be close to Harry.

They eat quietly, and Louis resists the urge to lean into Harry, to touch him at all, forcing himself to think about something else. Eventually Harry gets up, brushing the sand off his trousers.

“I’m going to keep working on the hut,” he says, reaching down to help Louis up. “You wanna help?”

“Think I’m gonna try and figure out how to hunt some birds,” Louis says. “I’d rather starve than eat fish one more time.”

“Alright,” Harry laughs, setting off into the woods. “Good luck!”

Louis watches him go and then puts out the fire, wandering around the treeline to find something to make a weapon with. He thinks a bow and arrow might be his best option, though he’s not sure the mechanics of making one, so he’s just going to have to wing it. 

He finds a stick that’s slightly curved, like a bow, and a couple of straight sticks to make arrows out of. He cuts a piece of vine with a sharp rock and brings them all back to the beach, settling down in the sand to get to work. He ties the vine to each end of the curved stick and pulls it as taut as he can, and then gets to work sharpening the straighter sticks to make them sharp enough to pierce a bird. 

He spends a few minutes trying to make it work, standing up and shooting his arrows as far along the beach as he can, but the vine isn’t terribly elastic, and the sticks don’t make it very far, if they don’t just drop out of his hands. He spends the better part of an hour huffing and grunting and groaning in frustration, but the damn thing won’t work, so he reckons he’ll have to find a different way.

He wanders along the inside of the treeline looking for something else he can use, wondering how else he can go about shooting down a bird. He supposes he could use a slingshot, if he can find a way to make something actually elastic enough to shoot a projectile.

After acquiring a stick with two forklike prongs on the end and a few different samples of different vines, he settles down in the shade of a tree on the beach and assembles the slingshot. He tries shooting pebbles toward the ocean, but the vines won’t bounce back enough to shoot them very far at all. 

He nearly hurls the entire slingshot into the ocean out of frustration, but he thinks there might be a bathing suit back in the cave that they got off of one of the bodies. He runs to go get it, using his sharp rock to cut the elastic out of the waistband.

He’s giddy as he heads back to the beach, replacing the vine with the elastic, which is thick enough to hold a pretty big pebble. Louis pleads to whoever and then gives it a go, launching the pebble toward the water. 

It’s not perfect, and it probably won’t kill a bird, but it definitely has the potential to injure a bird, which is all Louis really needs. As long as he can injure it enough to grab it he can deal with killing it another way, which will be horrible, but worth it if he doesn’t have to eat fish again today.

He gathers some pebbles and small rocks and puts them in his pockets, and then sets out to find the tallest tree he can manage to climb. He nestles himself between two branches about 30 feet off the ground and does his best not to look down, waiting silently for a bird to come within range so he can start shooting.

He stays in the tree all day, mostly just waiting. He can hear the birds all around him, but he can’t see them, which is absolutely infuriating, but he thinks patience is a good virtue to have here, so he waits. And waits. And waits.

Eventually a bird flutters close, landing at the end of the branch he’s sitting on, and Louis holds his breath. The bird looks at him curiously and hops a little closer, and Louis very slowly readies his weapon. The bird seems to deem him a non issue and goes about its business, and Louis takes the shot before he misses his chance.

He misses by a mile, only succeeding in scaring the bird away. Louis curses quietly to himself under his breath and resists the urge to scream, forcing himself to sit still and wait quietly for another bird to come along.

It feels like hours go by before another bird lands on his branch, in the same position as the last one, facing him but not looking at him. Louis waits for it to shift slightly to the side, so it’s a bigger target, and then aims very carefully and shoots.

He hits the bird in the shoulder, scaring the hell out of it and knocking it off the branch. The bird screams, fluttering like it has no idea what to do, and hits the ground hard. It appears Louis broke its wing, and the fall seems to have injured it even further, as the poor thing can’t even get itself together enough to stand up.

Louis feels like crying, scrambling down the tree and rushing over to where the bird is still shrieking on the ground. He picks it up and hugs it quickly, his hands shaking, and then snaps its neck.

The bird goes silent instantly, and Louis sobs. He feels like a demon, holding this dead bird in his hands, knowing he killed it. He had to do it, he knows that, and he knows that people do this sort of thing all the time in order to survive, but he can’t help but have himself just a little cry as he stares at what he’s done. Ten minutes ago this bird was just living its life, probably looking for its next meal, and now it’s dead because of Louis.

He pulls himself together and ties the bird to his belt loop with a piece of vine so he won’t lose it, and then sets off to find a different tree. He figures the other birds have all heard the commotion and won’t come anywhere near this tree again, so Louis finds a different tree on the other side of the island and resumes his waiting game.

He shoots down two more birds before the end of the afternoon, and he doesn’t cry again, but he does feel a hundred pounds heavier with guilt as he trudges back to the beach. He sits down by the fire pit and begins the plucking the feathers off the birds, forcing his mind blissfully blank while he does it, and then carefully cuts them apart with the sharpest rock he can find.

He has no idea how to carve a bird to cook it, but he starts by separating all the limbs and burying the parts he won’t use, pulling the meat free from the bones and discarding the bones, as well. All of the birds were quite small, but once he’s finished preparing them, it looks like quite a bit of food. 

Harry finds him as he’s skewering all the chunks of meat to roast them over the fire, emerging from the woods looking dirty and tired and sweaty. He sits down across from Louis and wipes his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, frowning at what Louis’s doing.

“What is that?” he says, peering at the pile of uncooked meat next to Louis. “Holy shit, did you catch birds?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, not meeting his eyes as he turns the skewer over the fire. “And they better be goddamn tasty, because I’m definitely going to hell for this.”

“Was it hard?” Harry frowns, grabbing a stick and copying Louis’s skewer to cook the rest of the meat. “How did you did it?”

“I made a slingshot and hit them with rocks,” Louis says. “I may have cried after I killed the first one. I don’t really wanna talk about it,” he mumbles.

“Sorry,” Harry says, going quiet for a moment as they cook the meat. “I appreciate it, anyway. I really was not looking forward to coming out here to eat more fish,” he says honestly.

“Yeah, same,” Louis says. “I think this can be a sometimes thing, like, we can’t have birds all the time, but when I recover from the trauma of this, I’ll try it again,” he says.

“I can help, too,” Harry says. “You don’t have to be the only one that finds food.”

They eat while the sun sets, and it’s hardly a roast chicken dinner, but it’s a welcome break from the fish. It’s more filling, as well, and they eat all the meat between them before Harry stands up and reaches for Louis’s hand.

“I wanna show you the hut,” he says, pulling Louis to his feet. “It’ll cheer you up, promise.”

Harry doesn’t drop his hand, which Louis is acutely aware of, letting Harry pull him through the woods to the clearing where the hut is. He only lets go of Louis’s hand when they get to the hut, and Louis has no idea why he wants to grab on again.

“I finished the walls and the roof, and I started doing the clay,” Harry says proudly. “Obviously there’s still a ton of work to be done with the clay, but I think it looks pretty good.”

“It looks amazing,” Louis says, stepping inside the hut and looking around. It’s taller than he thought it would be, and it’s dark inside, with only a bit of the remaining daylight coming in through the cracks between the branches.

“Maybe you can help me finish the clay tomorrow,” Harry says. “You know, if you’re not too busy pretending to be Tarzan again. I saw you up in those trees,” he jokes.

“I’m hardly Tarzan,” Louis chuckles, rubbing at his shoulder. “I was not made to climb trees. I probably won’t be able to move tomorrow, I’ll be so sore” he says.

“Well, it’ll be good to put some meat on those chicken bones,” Harry teases, pinching Louis’s bicep. 

“Hey!” Louis says, laughing as he punches Harry weakly. “I’m not bony, I’m strong! I think my sister called me slim thick, once,” he says proudly.

Harry smiles, his eyes trailing down Louis’s body. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, distracted, his eyes coming back up to Louis’s face belatedly.

“Stop looking at my ass,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. Harry just laughs and shakes his head, ducking out of the hut and leaving Louis inside.

It could be weird if Louis were to make it weird, but he doesn’t think it should be. He kind of likes joking around with Harry like that now, even though it used to make him want to crawl out of his own skin when Harry did it on the ship. Sure, they still don’t know each other very well, but for some reason the teasing feels less predatory now and more fun, and it doesn’t make Louis so uncomfortable. And, like, yeah, Harry’s pretty good looking, and it’s not terribly difficult to flirt with him, but there’s the very real thought that’s buried in the back of Louis’s head that Harry was genuinely into him just a few days ago, and possibly still could be into him, and that’s a little scary.

The thing is, Louis shouldn’t be able to flirt so easily with Harry right now. Charles is hardly even cold yet and Louis already feels like he can’t even remember him very well; he can’t remember what he smelled like, or what it felt like when he kissed him, or why Louis was so intent on marrying him. He almost feels like he can’t even really remember what Charles’s voice sounded like, or the things Louis used to tell himself he liked so much about him. It feels like he’s been dead for years, but it’s only been a few days, and Louis should definitely still be way more upset than he is. Maybe he’s just in shock, and it’ll all sink in later.

All that being said, he still doesn’t feel like he and Harry are crossing any lines. It feels kinda fun to flirt so comfortably with Harry now, and though Louis’s sure nothing will come of it, or that he even wants anything to come of it, he kind of hopes they can just keep doing it for fun.

They spend the rest of the fleeting daylight using up the rest of the clay Harry gathered before it can harden, packing it onto the walls of the hut. They finish one whole wall before it gets too dark to keep working and they’ve run out of clay, and finally they head back to the cave to go to sleep.

Louis is exhausted, suddenly, as he crawls into the cave with Harry behind him. Harry says something to him but Louis isn’t really listening, more concerned with lying down and finding a comfy spot to sleep in. He’s out cold before Harry even gets the door back in place over the opening, sleeping peacefully on his stomach, face pressed into the dirt.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to roll over, limbs stiff, and finds that Harry’s covered him with a blanket and removed his shoes for him. He smiles a little and turns over, tucking his arm under his head and opening his eyes.

Harry is snuggled up right beside him, covered by his own blanket, fast asleep. He looks sweet, and he’s a little bit on top of Louis, but there’s two layers of blanket between them and the cuddling is noninvasive, keeps Louis warm, even. 

He closes his eyes again and snuggles a little closer, pressing his face into the curve of Harry’s shoulder, and drifts off again. He feels safe, and calm, and like everything in the world is okay right now, Harry’s quiet breathing in his ear blocking out every negative thought and keeping Louis’s dreams peaceful and sweet.

-

It takes a couple more days to finish building the hut, because hauling all the clay from around the island back to the clearing takes forever, but once it’s done they finally feel like they can relax. It’s hardly the prettiest thing they’ve ever seen, but it works, and it’s much better than sleeping in the cave all the time.

Harry built a little fireplace at the back so they can have a fire inside, which keeps it lovely and warm all the time. There’s also a lot more room, which means they don’t have to sleep on top of each other anymore, and they end up on opposite sides of the hut at the hut at night wrapped up in their own blankets. It’s a lot more comfortable, and a lot more practical, but the space between them is getting to Louis in ways he never expected.

The first night, Harry curled up right beside Louis and fell asleep mostly on top of him, just like normal. The fire was burning hot, though, and so was Louis, and in the middle of the night he found himself wiggling out from under Harry just to get away from the heat. The next morning, when Harry woke up and found Louis sleeping peacefully on the opposite side of the hut, the tone was set, and they’ve yet to figure out how to go back to how it was before.

Now that Louis falls asleep each night by himself, without Harry’s arms around him or his head on his chest, the loneliness starts weighing down on him. He was able to distract himself from it when he was able to at least pretend that he wasn’t as alone in the world as he is, but now Harry is so far away, and Louis just lies awake thinking of all the ways his life has gone to shit.

He can’t stop thinking about Charles. He desperately wants to be able to say that he’s wishing Charles was here with him right now but, honestly, he isn’t. In a way, he’s kind of relieved Charles isn’t here. He would be terrible at all of this; he’s needy and annoying in the best of situations, he would be absolutely unbearable to be trapped on a desert island with. Louis feels horrible thinking that way, because Charles is _dead_ , for crying out loud, and Louis should be wishing he was here because that would mean that he was alive, that he was okay, but if Louis’s being completely honest, he’s just kind of glad he doesn’t have to put up with him during all of this. Those are the thoughts that keep him up at night, that allow him three or four hours of restless, interrupted sleep, while Harry sleeps peacefully a couple meters away. 

He spends night after night for almost a week lying awake, on his side facing the wall with Harry and the fire and the rest of the world to his back. He could probably talk to Harry about it, and Harry would probably even help him, try to make him feel better, but he can’t. Even after everything that’s happened, Louis still can’t see Harry as anything more than just a guy who happens to be here, too. He doesn’t think of Harry as a real, complex person, as someone with a family and friends and a life that he’s missing, as well. He doesn’t think of Harry as someone he can be real with, as someone that can help him. They’re both just trying to be strong for each other, and Louis keeps forgetting that Harry probably has a lot of shit that he’s bottling up, too, that he might be reaching his breaking point just like Louis is.

They’ve been on the island for two weeks. They spent all their daylight hours today looking for crabs and fruit and anything to eat that isn’t fish or birds, and then they spent the evening having themselves a small, measly feast with everything they were able to scrounge up. The sky has been dark the past few days, and it gets even darker once the sun starts to set, the low, heavy clouds lighting up orange and pink as the sun sinks over the ocean.

Louis hasn’t been talking much the past few days. It’s probably not healthy, but he feels better when he can just be silent. Keeping his mouth closed means keeping all of his thoughts inside his head, and though Harry seems a little bit worried that Louis has said probably 30 words in total in the past three days, he doesn’t ask any questions, and Louis doesn’t give him the impression that he should.

It’s going to storm tonight, for the first time since they’ve been in the hut. Louis can tell by the way the clouds are moving, slow and ominous, darker over the horizon. Harry seems to know it too, this time, but he doesn’t say anything, because their unsaid vow of silence applies to both of them in their harder moments and this just happens to be one of them.

Louis puts the fourteenth tally on his time keeping tree before they go to bed, and he feels lower than ever as they trudge through the woods to the hut.

They’ve been lying there a while when it starts raining, the water running smoothly off the leaves Harry covered the roof with. Louis turns over to make sure Harry is alright and finds him already fast asleep, facing Louis on his side with his head pillowed on his folded arm.

Louis settles down and watches him sleep for a few minutes, as the rain picks up outside. There’s no thunder, blessedly, but the rain is coming down like hail, drenching the world outside of their little bubble of warmth.

Louis lets himself keep staring at Harry to keep himself from spiralling, watching the way his face twitches in his sleep. He doesn’t seem very peaceful, his breath catching every now and again. Louis just keeps watching him dream, until Harry’s face turns a bit sour.

Louis can’t tell if it’s a trick of the firelight dancing over his face or if Harry actually looks anguished, recoiling a little like he’s in pain. Louis frowns and sits up a little, watching him closely, until suddenly Harry cries out loudly.

Louis sits up quickly, his heart falling into his stomach, watching as Harry falls apart. He presses his face into the ground and sobs, gasping and wailing and Louis is too surprised to to anything at first, too shocked to do anything but sit there and watch.

Eventually Harry takes a shuddering breath and mumbles something, but the word gets lost in his crying. Louis holds his breath and listens as Harry does it again and again, until finally Louis recognizes the word.

“Mum,” Harry is sobbing, shaking hands fisted in his blanket. “Mum, mum, mum…”

Louis’s heart shatters. Harry is just lying there, screaming and crying for his mum, and suddenly everything clicks into place in Louis’s mind. Harry is miserable, just as miserable as Louis is, and he has a family and a life he’s missing, a home he wants to go back to, just like Louis does. Louis looks at Harry’s face and, for the first time, sees a whole and complex person, a person who is having the worst time of his life, too.

He can’t help but start crying, as well, as Harry’s sobs get deeper and more desperate, more forceful. Louis doesn’t know what to do, so he kicks off his blanket and crawls over to Harry’s shaking body, pulling him into his lap and holding him while he cries.

He thinks about Harry’s life, about the family he never talks about, the friends he’s only ever hinted at having. Maybe Harry has pets, a dog or a cat or something, and they have no idea what’s happened to him, why he isn’t coming home. Then again, Louis thinks, no one understands what’s happened to them. The whole world must think they’re dead, including their families and their friends, and the thought of it is absolutely crushing.

Louis has no idea if he should wake Harry or not, so he doesn’t, holding him close and burying his face in his hair. He’s crying, too, gasping quietly against the back of Harry’s head, while Harry presses his face into his chest and sobs. They’re pitiful, the two of them, curled up with the world ending around them, the rain still coming down hard outside.

A while later, Louis has no idea how long, Harry lets out one last deep, bitter sob, and twists his hand into a fist in Louis’s shirt. Louis opens his eyes and looks down at him, realizing that Harry is awake, still crying quietly as he stares at the fire. Louis has no idea how long he’s been awake, or what woke him, but he doesn’t move, just pulling him a little closer until they both calm down a little. Harry isn’t crying for his mum anymore, but he’s still crying so hard Louis thinks he might make himself sick, and it makes Louis’s heart shatter all over again.

He shifts to lay down, bringing Harry with him, and curling up behind him like the big spoon. Harry curls up small and holds the hand that Louis drapes over his chest, and eventually, he just cries himself back to sleep. Louis keeps holding him for a long few minutes, listening to him breathe, feeling his pulse slow down to a normal pace in every place they’re touching.

Louis drifts off to sleep, too, with his face pressed into the back of Harry’s neck. Maybe he’ll read into it in the morning, the way his heart is still aching for Harry even as he sleeps. It’s hardly the best sleep he’s ever had, but to be fair, it is the first night in nearly a week that he’s gone right to sleep without spiralling all night and he thinks, maybe, it might have something to do with the warm, solid body in his arms.

-

The next morning, Louis wakes up alone, curled up on the floor of the hut with two blankets over him, like Harry bundled him up a little extra before he crept out. Louis has no idea how he managed to get away without waking him; Louis was wrapped around him like an octopus all night, and he thought he would have noticed when Harry got up.

He kicks the blankets off and stumbles out of the hut, wandering down to the beach to look for Harry. He finds him sitting by the fire, cooking a couple of fish, looking tired and miserable.

Louis doesn’t say anything as he sits down across from him, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask Harry if he’s alright, if he wants to talk about it, but he doesn’t know if he should bring it up or not. He thinks that if the roles were reversed, he’d murder Harry for bringing it up right now, so he just stays quiet and picks at his nails for a little bit. He could really use a manicure, he thinks, though he’s not sure any amount of grooming could fix the destroyed state of his hands and skin.

“I’m seriously fucking sick of fish,” Harry says eventually, his voice clear, cutting through the quiet sound of the waves like a ship. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, still staring down at his hands. “We gotta go easy on the birds, though, or we’ll kill them all before they can reproduce and then we’ll be stuck with nothing but fish,” he shrugs.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, turning the fish over the fire. That appears to be the end of that conversation, and an awkward silence settles between them, making the back of Louis’s neck itch with the need to say something to make everything better.

He doesn’t, though, and finally Harry hands him one of the fish, wordlessly. Louis accepts it just as quietly, trying to meet Harry’s eyes, but Harry won’t even look up.

He’s probably embarrassed, Louis thinks. He knows he’d be embarrassed if it was him, but he also doesn’t think Harry would pity him, or think any less of him, or make him feel like it was something he needed to be embarrassed of. Louis wants to tell him that there’s nothing to be ashamed of, he can cry all he likes and Louis will never think any less of him for it. He thinks they’ve both earned their fair share of meltdowns and bad dreams, after all.

Harry finishes his breakfast and gets up before Louis has a chance to say anything, though, flinging his fish bones into the woods before turning back to look at Louis. His eye contact seems forced, like he’s trying to convince Louis he’s as fine as he wants to be. 

“I think we should explore the island today,” he says, watching as Louis carefully finishes his food.

“Have we not explored every inch of it yet?” Louis says. 

“We haven’t climbed that hill,” Harry shrugs, glancing over his shoulder at the hill in question, looming over the trees like it’s watching them.

“Do we have to?” Louis says, whining a little. He’s gained a good bit more muscle and stamina in the couple weeks they’ve been on the island, but the thought of climbing that massive hill for no reason still makes him cringe.

“I don’t know, I’m curious,” Harry says. “There’s this big ass hill on this tiny island, maybe there’s something up there.”

“Like what, a fuckin’ treasure map?” Louis snorts. “Or, like, the entrance to Atlantis?”

“Well, fuck, Louis, do you have anything fucking better to do today?” Harry bites.

Louis flinches a little, caught off guard by Harry’s tone. He hoped that maybe joking around would get Harry to loosen up, but it appears he’ll have to find a different approach, unless he wants to start a fight. That’s the last thing they need, though, is to start hating each other this early on in their situation.

“Guess not,” he mutters, climbing to his feet and dusting the sand off his legs. “Lead the way, then.”

They head back to the hut to get their shoes on and then set off for the hill, Harry walking a few steps in front of Louis. Louis just wants to give him some space, let him come down from this mood he’s in at his own pace. 

The hill is quite odd, Louis thinks, watching the ground under his feet as they slowly make their way up. The trees get thinner and thinner as they get higher, and the ground is mostly rock instead of dirt. The rock looks so bizarre, nothing like Louis’s ever seen before, almost like it’s melted and cooled, like it’s dripping down the side of the hill. There are tons of little caves, as well, like the one they slept in, and the higher they get, the stranger it all looks.

It takes nearly two hours, but finally they reach the top of the hill. It’s a lot bigger than Louis anticipated, and the top just kind of plateaus, absent of any trees, only a few small plants and bushes scattered around.

Harry walks over to the edge of the hill and looks out, his back to Louis. Louis takes a moment to turn in a slow circle, surveying everything, his heart falling straight through the floor.

They’re absolutely, completely, totally alone. There is nothing but ocean for miles and miles in every direction, not a single hint of land, a ship, or anything else in sight.

It makes him feel dizzy, the sheer sense of abandonment, being so fucking alone out here. He finds a rock away from the edge and sits down, holding his head in his hands and catching his breath.

He zones out staring at the water, the way the sun reflects off of it, sparkling and shimmering. He thinks about the day they got on the cruise ship, watching the water just like this, and it starts to make his head hurt the same way it did that day.

Harry is just wandering around quietly, but Louis pays him no mind, keeping his eyes glued to the water. At least it’s pretty, if he has to die here.

Harry screams, suddenly, sounding absolutely panicked from somewhere behind Louis’s rock. Louis jumps up and whirls around, but he doesn’t immediately see him, and his heart jumps up into his throat.

“Harry!” he shouts, holding his breath to listen for Harry’s reply.

“Fuck!” Harry answers, and Louis follows the sound without a second thought. He finds Harry on the other side of the plateau, desperately trying to scramble to his feet, the rocks beneath his feet sliding away and making him unsteady and unable to get his footing.

Louis hurries over and grabs him, dragging him away from where the rocks are sliding into a slight depression toward the center of the plateau. Harry clings to him and shoves him back even more, until they’re as far from the depression as they can be without going back down the hill.

“Holy fuck,” Harry breathes, turning back to look at the dip in the ground. “Holy _fuck_ , Louis.”

“Are you okay?” Louis asks quickly, checking Harry over. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Harry says, batting Louis away distractedly. “Lou-”

“You’re bleeding,” Louis says, frowning at Harry’s knee. “Does it hurt? Can you walk?”

“Shut up,” Harry hisses, batting at him again. “Look.”

Louis looks, following Harry’s line of vision, but he doesn’t see anything. “What?” he asks, much more concerned with the blood dripping down Harry’s knee than the rocks tumbling to a stop in the center of the depression.

“Did you notice how the rocks are a little weird on the way up?” Harry asks, finally looking over at him. “Like, really smooth, and they have those grooves in them like they’ve melted, or something?”

“Yeah,” Louis frowns, shaking his head. “So what?”

Harry stays quiet for a moment, and then nods toward the depression. “I think this is a volcano.”

Louis’s entire body goes cold, his heart skipping a beat. He looks over at the depression and, yeah, he can see what Harry means. He’s never seen a volcano in person, but it does vaguely resemble the photos he’s seen, even though the actual top of the volcano is covered over in rocks and sand.

Harry sits down right there on the ground at Louis’s feet, like he’s too overwhelmed to stand. Louis’s curious now, though, so he creeps a little closer to the depression, as if he’ll be able to look down into the volcano.

If it really is a volcano, it doesn’t seem to have erupted any time recently, in Louis’s completely unprofessional opinion. He picks up a rock about the size of his fist, just because he’s curious, and tosses it into the center of the depression.

“Louis!” Harry scolds, making Louis jump and turn around. “Are you fucking insane? You’re going to make it go off!”

“I mean, I’ll admit, I don’t know much about volcanoes, but I’m almost completely sure you can’t trigger an eruption,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

“Well, seeing as how neither of us know for sure and we don’t really have access to Google right now, how about you play it safe and get the fuck away from there?” Harry says, reaching for him like he can drag him back with willpower alone.

Louis ignores him, stepping an inch closer to the depression. “I don’t think this volcano has erupted for years, to be honest,” he says. “It seems pretty chill, all covered over with rocks and plants and stuff, maybe it isn’t active,” he says.

“That just means that every day is another day closer to it erupting again,” Harry fires back, “and what the fuck are we gonna do then?”

“I think you need to chill out, mate,” Louis says, finally turning away from the depression and heading back over to where Harry’s still sitting on the ground. “That kind of thinking is just gonna send us both into a panic and we’ll lose our minds, so let’s just stay calm and optimistic,” he says.

“Staying calm and optimistic sounds about as easy as learning to fly right now,” Harry mutters, rubbing at his face a little.

It’s clear that Harry’s already sent himself into a panic, at least internally, and Louis realizes this is no time to try to be rational with him. Harry’s going to actually lose it if Louis pushes him, and they don’t need that right now. 

“Why don’t we go back down to the beach, yeah?” he suggests, wanting to just forget the past few minutes. Harry’s leg is still bleeding, and Louis wants to make sure they clean it up before it gets infected. “I need a bath after all of this exercise, Christ,” he says.

Harry just nods, allowing Louis to take his hand and pull him to his feet. Going back down the hill is quicker than going up, and they’re back to the beach in no time, though the cloud of fear and dread seems to have followed them all the way.

“I need a shower, if we’re being honest,” Louis says, mostly to draw Harry’s attention away from where he’s still staring up at the hill like it’s going to erupt at any moment. “Taking baths in the ocean just isn’t cutting it. I think I’d sell me kidney for some shampoo,” he jokes.

Harry just nods distractedly, clearly not listening to a word he says. Louis rolls his eyes and gives up, walking down to the water and stripping off his shirt. If Harry wants to waste the whole day being terrified of something that’s most likely never going to happen, well, Louis clearly can’t stop him. 

He glances back to make sure Harry isn’t looking before he strips of his shorts and pants, hurrying into the water quickly. He still doesn't really like the thought of being naked in front of Harry, even though Harry never seems to have any qualms about showing his own skin. Maybe Louis’s still just a little too conscious of the fact that Harry used to have feelings for him.

He turns back to the beach once he’s deep enough in the water to hide everything he needs to hide, finding that Harry’s no longer staring at the hill, but at the water, though nowhere near where Louis is. Louis can’t help but be a little worried, because if Harry keeps letting himself spiral like this he’s going to make himself depressed. Louis won’t have that because, for one thing, Harry will be miserable, and two, Louis doesn’t really want to deal with that.

“Hey,” he calls out, swimming a little closer to Harry’s line of vision. Harry’s eyes flicker over to him, and Louis gives him his warmest smile. “Why don’t you come in?”

Harry just keeps looking at him, but Louis doubts he’s even really seeing him. He’s so deep inside his head it’s a wonder he can even hear Louis’s voice, let alone understand what he’s saying.

“It’s warm,” he says, splashing around a bit as if to prove it. “And no offense, mate, but I can smell you from here. Come rinse off,” he says.

Finally Harry blinks and cracks a smile, shuffling down to the water and stripping out of his clothes. Louis turns away to give him some privacy and swims out a little further, carefully keeping his body under the water and out of Harry’s sight.

He dunks under the water a few times, shaking his hair out to get it good and rinsed. He really could use some fucking shampoo, he can feel the salt damaging his hair, but whatever.

After a few minutes, he looks up and sees Harry wading into the water, at about waist level. Harry’s not looking at him but he’s heading in his direction, so Louis just floats for a few minutes, making sure to angle his body so that he can keep all his bits hidden as Harry gets closer. Finally Harry gets to him and sinks down to float, mirroring him, watching him quietly.

“I’d kill for a proper shower right now,” Louis says, just to break the tension a little bit. “Hate bathing in the ocean.”

Harry hums quietly, gazing up at the sky. “Imagine having some soap,” he says dreamily. “A little shampoo and some body wash.”

“If we ever get off this island, the first thing I’m doing is taking a shower,” Louis says. 

“Same,” Harry chuckles quietly. It seems he’s calmed down a little bit, or maybe he’s just so freaked out he’s shut down and is only pretending to be so chill. “Do you prefer showers or baths?”

“Showers, on account of I’m an adult,” Louis says.

Harry giggles a little, and Louis can’t help but smile too. “I’m a bath man, myself. Give me some bath salts, or a bath bomb, or some bubbles, I’ll be happy as a clam,” he says.

“You’re just sitting in your own filth, what’s the point?” Louis says.

“It’s relaxing and it makes your skin really soft,” Harry says. “And, like, you probably don’t need to know this, but my favorite thing to do is take baths with someone else. I just think it’s so romantic and sweet and soft to, like, sit in a bath with someone you care about and wash each other’s hair, and cuddle, and the water gets cold after a while but neither of you care, because you’re just so comfortable. And then when you finally get all pruny you get out and get wrapped up in some fluffy towels, and it’s best when it’s late at night and you can just move straight from the bath to bed, and you’re both all soft and clean and relaxed, and you just curl up together under the covers and fall asleep. Or even, like, I don’t know if you’ve ever had bath sex, but it is the sweetest, most intimate and gentle experience. It’s one of my favorites,” he says, like this is something people talk about, like this isn’t already the weirdest conversation Louis’s ever had. 

“Ew,” Louis says, but he’s not totally sure he means it. Harry just laughs and blushes a little, shrugging as he swims away a few feet. Louis turns away, as well, dunking under the water to try and get his mind away from the path it’s threatening to travel down.

It’s just, like, Jesus, that sounds so nice. As much as he doesn’t want to, Louis can’t help but picture himself being the one Harry does all that with, and, like, maybe it’s just that he’s filthy and miserable and taking a bath in the bloody ocean, but that all really does sound like a dream right now.

He catches himself looking over at Harry, at his shoulders and his chest, and he’s so broad and his legs are so long, and Louis would fit so nicely against him if they were to take a bath together. Louis’s never taken a bath with another person before, much less had bath sex; if he’s honest, his sex life has always been pretty vanilla and traditional, but like he can’t stop his mind from wandering.

He imagines being curled up in a bathtub with Harry behind him, and the water is warm, and everything smells like roses and lavender and Harry’s running those big hands all over his body, getting him all soft and squeaky clean. And then, maybe, one hand wanders between Louis’s legs, and Louis’s not even hard but Harry touches him anyway and gets him there, and then jerks him off so slowly but with a tight grip, and it’s so good, and Louis comes in his hand with the tiniest whimper. Then the water starts getting cold, so Harry pulls the drain plug with his toes, and their soiled bathwater swirls down the drain as Harry picks Louis up and rinses them both down with the showerhead, and then they get all wrapped up in their towels and get into bed. Maybe then Louis takes an hour playing with Harry’s pretty little rosebud nipples, and kissing up and down his body, and sucking him lazily until finally Harry comes long and hard into his mouth, and Louis swallows all of it and then climbs back up Harry’s body and lies down on top of him, and they spend the rest of the night just kissing lazily and giggling into each other’s mouths until they fall asleep like that, with Louis stretched out on top of Harry with his head nuzzled in his neck, and Harry’s arms are heavy and warm wrapped around Louis’s back, resting in the dip of his spine, and their legs all tangled together…

He’s terribly conscious of the fact that he should not be thinking like this, but he can’t stop, can’t make his brain think of anything else. He can’t look at Harry, not with these thoughts swirling through his head, so he turns away fully and dips under the water until his lungs burn, until his head is clear, and his dick gets the hint that now isn’t the time. 

Eventually he regains control over himself and glances over at Harry, because he’s been silent for a while, wanting to make sure he didn’t drown or something while Louis wasn’t looking.

Harry is floating on his back, limbs all spread out and his head tipped back in the water, eyes closed peacefully. He’s all on display, long, lean body glistening in the sunlight, skin littered with tattoos. Louis doesn’t want to, obviously, but he catches an eyeful of Harry’s dick, and then forces himself under the water to clear his mind again.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice at all, and when Louis comes back up, he hasn’t moved a bit. Louis tries to go about his business but he can’t stop looking over, stealing quick glances, scolding himself each and every time but still glancing back a moment later.

He feels like a fucking creep, honestly, but he can’t stop looking at Harry, thinking about what it would be like to touch him, to be touched by him. He’s never been attracted to Harry like he is right now. It’s scary, because, like, he can’t be attracted to Harry, that’s going to make this all so much harder and, like, Jesus fucking Christ, what are they going to do if Louis can’t keep his thoughts pure? He won’t be able to look at Harry ever again, and then they’re going to have to stop speaking, and sleeping in the same hut, and Louis’s going to have to go back to sleeping in the cave by himself, and _god_ this is bad. He kinda wishes the volcano would erupt right now, just take him out before he has to deal with any of this.

Harry remains completely oblivious to Louis’s little breakdown, which Louis supposes is good. He needs to get out of the water and take a walk, or something, and forget that any of this ever happened.

He wades out of the water and collects his clothes from the beach, finding that the tide came in a bit while they were in the water, and now their clothes are all wet and sandy. He grabs Harry’s clothes as well and darts into the woods, holding the clothes over his modesty until he’s safely hidden in the trees, and heads back to the hut to change into some dry clothes.

He grabs some clothes for Harry, as well, and leaves their wet clothes up to dry, and then heads back to the beach. He finds Harry standing in the water, looking scandalized, but his dick is finally out of Louis’s sight.

“I got you a change of clothes,” Louis says, jogging down to the water. “Everything got all wet.”

“I thought you were pranking me,” Harry says, wading out of the water to grab the clothes. Louis averts his eyes quickly, staring down until Harry takes the clothes from his hands. “You know, stealing my clothes while I’m in the locker room so I’ll have to walk across campus naked,” he jokes.

Louis just laughs, turning away while Harry gets dressed. Harry truly has no shame, and that was fine up until Louis started kind of liking it.

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says, once he’s got his clothes on. Louis glances over at him and smiles, his heart racing for no reason.

“No worries, mate,” he says. It comes out stiff and way too straight, and Harry gives him a weird look, but Louis dodges it. “I’ll go catch some fish for dinner,” he says, turning on his heel and scurrying off to the pond. 

He probably couldn’t have been any weirder about that, but Harry finally seems like he’s snapped out of whatever mood he was in earlier, and also like he’s not so terrified of the volcano anymore, so Louis supposes all’s well that ends well.

-

They spend the rest of the day dicking around, collecting rocks from around the beach and shoreline and building up their fire pit. They feel so useless when they’re just sitting around, they’ve agreed, so they like to keep themselves busy, and today that means making the most extravagant fire pit they can manage, apparently. 

It gets dark rather quickly, but neither of them are paying very much attention, competing to see who can build up their side of the fire pit faster, and who can make it look nicer. It’s a good way to pass the time, keeps them distracted from what they’re going through, and makes them feel a bit less like they’re stuck on a desert island with nothing to do but wait to either be rescued or die.

The universe must decide they’re having too much fun, though, because before long the sky opens up, and rain starts pouring down, cold and hard. Louis freezes in surprise, but Harry just shrieks, jumping to his feet.

They’re ages away from the hut, and it’s raining so hard Louis can barely see Harry two feet in front of him, but Louis’s been in a good mood since he and Harry started playing their dumb little game with the fire pit, and he can’t do anything but laugh as he’s being soaked through with rain. Harry looks up at him and starts laughing, too, and then takes off into the woods toward the hut.

Louis snorts and runs after him, jumping over bushes and tree roots and shouting as he dashes through the rain. He feels so alive, for the first time since they’ve been here, and hearing Harry’s laughter echoing from a couple yards ahead of him makes him feel like this maybe isn’t the worst thing in the world.

They stumble into the hut together, still laughing and panting, clutching each other to stay upright as they calm down. It’s freezing inside the hut, the fire long gone out, and now that they’re no longer running, the cold water dripping down Louis’s spine is starting to make him shiver.

“Fuck,” Harry says, but he’s still grinning, even though he’s shivering, too. “Start a fire, it’s freezing.”

Louis drops to his knees by the fireplace and digs the lighter out of his pocket, pushing his wet hair out of his face and trying to get the fire started. The lighter is running out of juice, which is disheartening, but Harry seems to be sure they’ll be able to start fires by rubbing sticks together, and Louis supposes he just has to trust him.

It takes a few tries, but finally the lighter catches, and Louis’s able to ignite the few twigs and leaves in the fireplace. He settles down close to it, Harry settling down just beside him, and they fall silent while they wait to warm up. They’re not laughing anymore, both of them just staring at the fire, the reality of the situation seeping back in.

Harry shivers so hard he makes Louis jump, and then crowds into his side, trying to steal the warmth Louis doesn’t have. Louis reaches for a blanket and wraps it around both of them, letting Harry press as close as he wants until finally they both stop shivering, the fire beginning to warm up the hut.

It’s quite cozy once the hut warms up, the rain falling outside creating a pleasant background noise along with the crackling fire. When Louis closes his eyes, he can almost imagine he’s at home, curled up by the fire with a cup of tea, listening to the sound of a rainy London day.

They don’t move for a while, Harry staying nestled into Louis’s side even though their clothes are still damp and uncomfortable, and they should probably change before they both get pneumonia. Eventually Louis starts to pull away so he can crawl over to his side of the hut and go to sleep, but Harry wraps his arms around him before he can get far and tugs him back, not letting him leave.

Louis frowns a little, glancing over at him, and finds Harry already watching him. Harry looks so soft and sleepy, and also a little bit hopeful, and Louis decides he doesn’t really want to sleep alone tonight, anyway, going pliant and letting Harry wrap himself around him any way he likes.

They shift to lie down after a bit, not quite intertwined but still close enough that Louis can feel Harry’s breath on his face. Harry’s eyes are closed, but Louis can’t stop looking at his face, close enough that he can see every freckle and imperfection in Harry’s skin. His eyelashes flutter a little and then his eyes open slowly, the firelight dancing off of them when he looks up at Louis.

Louis just blinks, watching Harry like he’s watching a screen, like Harry isn’t even real, can’t be real. Harry’s eyes shift down to Louis’s mouth and then back up to his eyes, and Louis’s stomach swoops.

Harry parts his lips, attracts Louis’s attention for a moment, but he focuses back on his eyes before long, studying every fleck of gold in his wide, green eyes, watching him look between Louis’s eyes and lips for a long few moments.

The world is still for a long moment, nothing but the island and the rain and them, lying together under a blanket, staring into each other’s eyes. Harry swallows and then tilts his chin forward a hair, hopeful, and waits.

Louis freezes, too afraid to look away from Harry’s eyes. Harry watches his mouth for a long, breathless second, and then meets his eyes again, breathing out softly over Louis’s lips and chin. Louis wants to kiss him so bad, he really does, but he can’t, frozen solid where he lies.

Harry blinks and tilts his chin away again, gently breaking the bubble that seems to have formed around them. He presses his face into Louis’s chest and snuggles close, all traces of the previous moment dissipating into the air around them.

Louis wraps his arms around Harry and holds him close, making sure the blanket is covering every inch of both of them and then tucking his chin over Harry’s head. Harry falls asleep quickly, his breath even and sweet against Louis’s chest, while Louis lies awake, staring at the fire.

He stays up all night while Harry sleeps, wondering what might have happened if he had just kissed Harry. What would it have meant? What does it mean that Louis actually wanted to kiss him? Does Louis actually like him, or is he just lonely and sad? And, like if they never get off this island, is Louis going to be content spending the rest of it like this like this, two inches away from Harry but never even admitting to himself that he really is really attracted to him, and has been this entire time? Or, what if they do get off the island eventually, are they just supposed to go back to their lives and pretend like none of this ever happened? Like they aren’t completely and irrevocably connected? What if they were wrong that night they were looking at the stars, and like the universe really does care about them and what happens to them? What if the universe is a voyeuristic, sadistic piece of shit, and all of this is happening because they’re meant to be together, and the universe had to take matters into its own hands to get them to realize it, because they were never going to figure it out on their own? He’s spiraling, but he can’t stop it, counting Harry’s heartbeats under where his palm is pressed to his back and watching the fire burn out as the sky starts to lighten over the ocean, the rain not letting up.

The rain stays steady as the world gets lighter outside the hut, the sun rising behind the clouds. That’s perfect, Louis thinks, because it means they’re going to be trapped inside together all day after Louis has just spent the entire night spiraling himself into a spider’s web of complicated feelings that he’s never going to be able to sort out with Harry sitting right there.

Harry starts to stir after a while, and Louis has had absolutely no sleep at all, but he still feels nothing but warm inside as he watches Harry wake up. He’s so cute it makes Louis’s heart ache a little, the way he snuffles against Louis’s chest and then pulls away, blinking his eyes open.

“Morning, sunshine,” Louis hums, trying to disguise how tired and miserable he is, but Harry sees right through him. 

“You look exhausted,” Harry frowns, propping himself up on one elbow and peering down at him. His voice is so raspy and deep and sleepy, Louis feels a bit weak all over. “Did you not sleep well?”

“Not exactly,” Louis says, looking down instead of holding Harry’s eye contact. Harry just huffs a little, making Louis look up again.

“You should try and sleep a few more hours,” he says, tugging the blanket up over Louis’s shoulder. “You’ll get sick, especially after being caught out in the rain yesterday.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an old wives tale,” Louis says, but he doesn’t protest as Harry bundles him up. “I don’t think you can actually get sick from that.”

“Alright, then, get pneumonia, that’s fine,” Harry shrugs, making like he’s going to pull away. Louis laughs, his voice a bit croaky, giving away just how tired he really is. 

“Sounds good,” he hums, gazing up at Harry dreamily as Harry glares down at him.

“I mean it, get some sleep,” Harry whines, “I don’t want you to get ill.”

“I’m not tired,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Roll over,” Harry says, demanding suddenly. Louis gives him a look, but Harry gives him a firmer one. 

Louis sighs and rolls over, settling down on his stomach and pillowing his head on his arm. Harry cuddles up behind him and cages him in, burying his fingers in his hair and massaging his head slowly, nails scratching soothingly along his scalp.

Harry’s gentle touches combined with the way he’s humming quietly into his ear and the sound of the rain still falling outside makes Louis feel like he could die like this and die happy, his brain finally settling and switching off. He’s out cold in moments, snoring quietly into the crook of his own elbow, while Harry continues to play with his hair and hum quiet tunes into his ear.

He must sleep for a few hours, at least, because when he wakes up he’s starving, Harry is gone, and the rain has finally stopped. He rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting himself wake up, before Harry finally comes creeping back into the hut.

“Shit,” Harry breathes, placing a jug of something down on the floor just inside the doorway. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Louis says, sitting up and watching as Harry sits down and starts sorting through the jug. “I’ve been up a few minutes.”

“Oh, good,” Harry says, looking up at him for a long moment. “Do you feel better? Well rested?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, his chest aching a little bit at the pleased look on Harry face. This whole maybe-kinda liking Harry thing is not good for Louis’s heart at all.

“I got us some fruit for breakfast,” Harry says, crawling over beside Louis and putting the jug down between them. “I tested everything as I was picking it and it all seems edible. These raspberry things are the best,” he says, picking up one of the berries in question and popping it in his mouth.

Louis tries one, as well, smiling at the taste. It hardly tastes like the perfect, pretty fruit he buys at the grocery store, but it’s still good, sweet and tangy and a lovely change of pace from the dry, flavorless things they’ve been eating.

“My little sister loves raspberries,” Louis says, popping another one in his mouth. “They’re her favorite.”

“How old is she?” Harry asks, tentatively, like maybe Louis won’t want to talk about it. Louis does want to talk about it, though, always wants to talk about his family, because thinking about them distracts him from the island for just a little while.

“Just turned four in February,” Louis says. “Her name is Doris. She’s so sweet, big blue eyes and curly red hair,” he grins.

“You’ve a four year old sister?” Harry asks, surprised.

“Yeah, and her twin brother as well,” Louis says. “We have a huge family. Doris and Ernest are the babies, and then there’s Daisy and Phoebe, also twins, turned 14 in March. Fizzy is 17, Lottie is 19, and then I’m the oldest,” he says. 

“Jesus,” Harry says, “your house must be mad.”

“It is, a bit,” Louis chuckles. “All the girls are so into their hair and their makeup and their clothes, it’s like a fashion show every time I go home. They’re constantly asking me to take photos of them for their Instagrams and whatnot, they all want to be models. My sister Lottie is actually training to be a makeup artist, and she’s kind of amazing at it. Should be, anyway, with all the times I’ve let her talk me into letting her put makeup on me,” he says.

“That’s really sweet,” Harry smiles, munching on a few more berries while Louis talks.

“Ernest and I are the lads,” Louis says, even though Harry didn’t ask. Once he starts talking about his family he can’t stop, though Harry doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ve been teaching him to play football since he could walk, though Doris usually wants in, too. He’s pretty incredible, spends hours with me in the garden even though he can hardly kick the ball and trips over about once every five minutes. You’d expect him to be a bit of a diva, with five sisters and a gay older brother, but he’s a perfect little lad,” he muses.

“What about your parents?” Harry asks. “They must be busy.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smile softening. “Mum passed away about a year and a half ago, cancer, it was really tough on everyone. My father isn’t really in the picture anymore, Lottie, Fizzy, Phoebe and Daisy still see their dad on occasion, but Dan, Doris and Ernest’s dad, he’s great. He works so hard, and his mum and I and the girls help out all we can, but he’s doing an amazing job. We’re all really lucky mum found him,” he says.

“Sorry about your mum,” Harry frowns, looking down at his lap. “I lost my step dad a couple months ago, too. Fuck cancer,” he says.

“Fuck cancer,” Louis agrees, cheersing him with a berry. 

“Does your family live in London, then?” Harry asks. 

“Doncaster, actually,” Louis says. “I moved south for uni and ended up staying in London after I graduated, when Charles and I got our flat, but I still go back up north to visit them all the time. Lottie actually just moved down to London, too, with her boyfriend, which is lovely. She and Charles lived for double dates,” he laughs. “It’s kinda nice having her so close again, you know? We were really close growing up, and now she’s just a couple tube stops away in her own flat. She and Tommy, her boyfriend, they hang out with my friends and I all the time, it’s great,” he hums.

“What are your friends like?” Harry asks. 

“They’re great, massive fun,” Louis says. “Stan and I grew up together and then went to the same uni, and we met Liam and Calvin around the same time I started dating Charles. We’ve always been close, since we met, do everything together, and all that,” he says. “Mostly drinking, if I’m honest. Lots of drinking.”

“Do you have any pets?” Harry asks curiously. “I had a couple cats growing up, but I’ve never had any pets of my own.”

“We have a labradoodle, Clifford,” Louis says, smiling sadly at the ground. “He’s my baby. Charles didn’t really want him, was never crazy about him, but he’s, like, my best friend. If it were up to me, I’d have a million pets, but Charles was never too keen,” he shrugs.

Harry just hums, shoving a few more berries in his mouth. Louis feels like he’s been talking for ages, and he doesn’t want to be the only one opening up, so he nudges Harry with his shoulder.

“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your family like?”

“Uh,” Harry says, staring down at the berries in his hand. “I have a sister, and my mom. We’re pretty close. And my step dad passed away, like I said, so. Just the three of us,” he shrugs.

Louis nods, waiting for him to go on, but Harry just stays quiet, shoving some more berries in his mouth. “What are they like?” Louis asks finally, when it’s clear Harry’s not going to say more. “What do you do together? What are your traditions?” he asks.

“Um, every year on my mum’s birthday Gemma and I take her to brunch and then bake her a cake,” Harry says, his voice dangerously quiet, breaking a little. Louis’s stomach sinks when he realizes that talking about this is only upsetting Harry, it doesn’t soothe him the way it soothes Louis. 

“That’s lovely,” Louis says, willing to leave it there, to stop encouraging him to go on. They’re quiet for a long minute, until Harry sniffles and starts talking again.

“Gemma runs a blog,” Harry says, a little bit stronger now, but his voice still breaks. “She’s just really cool and powerful and inspiring, and I’ve always looked up to her so much. She’s such a great sister, I’m so lucky to have her. I miss her so much,” he says, his voice trembling.

“It’s okay,” Louis says, reaching out to touch Harry’s shoulder gently. “You don’t have to talk about them, if you don’t want to.”

Harry hiccups, turning his face away and burying it in his opposite shoulder. “I miss them so much,” he whimpers.

Louis doesn’t know what to do, frozen to his spot as Harry breaks a little more. He hiccups into his shoulder again and then curls in on himself, and Louis just rubs his back a little as his eyes start to get a little wet, as well.

“They think I’m dead,” Harry says, voice muffled by his own shirt. “They have no idea what happened to me and they probably miss me so much and I just want to go home to them,” he says. He’s trying so hard not to cry, his voice all choked and horrible, and it fucking breaks Louis’s heart.

Louis moves over a little and wraps his arms around Harry, pulling his shaking body into his side. Harry melts into him and sobs, pressing his face against Louis’s chest and trembling.

“I know,” Louis says, his own voice shaking a little, too. With the amount of times he’s seen Harry cry in the past few weeks, he thinks he should be a little bit better at handling it, but he’s not. “I miss my family, too. I wish there was something I could do, that either of us could do, to just snap us back home.”

Harry only answers with another hiccup, and Louis’s words don’t seem to be helping at all, but he keeps talking out of his ass for a little while and wiping his own tears away before they can drip into Harry’s hair. Eventually he stops talking, pressing his face to the top of Harry’s head and rubbing his back until Harry finally calms down a little, his whimpering subsiding and his body trembling just a little bit less.

Louis thinks he’s going to pull away, but he doesn’t, and they spend a long few minutes just curled up together on the floor, holding each other and letting their breathing even out. Lous doesn’t want Harry to pull away, wants to stay like this all day, all week, for the rest of their lives, wants to keep rubbing Harry’s back and feeling his breath against his chest until the end of time.

They stay like that for what might be hours, until finally Harry sighs and shifts. Louis panics, thinking he’s pulling away, and tugs him back in, but Harry was only straightening up a bit, and now their faces are so close Louis has to cross his eyes to look at Harry’s. Harry looks miserable, his eyes all red and bloodshot and puffy, and Louis’s sure he doesn’t look much better, himself, but lord, all he wants is to lean in and catch Harry’s lips with his own and that’s really, _really_ not what he should be thinking of right now.

They stare at each other like that for a couple of long, drawn out seconds, and Louis finds himself thinking about his spiral last night, about what kissing Harry might mean, about what all these weird and complicated feelings swirling in his gut might mean.

Harry keeps looking between Louis’s eyes and his lips again, like he was doing last night and, god, he wants to kiss Louis too, Louis should just do it, should just lean in and do it, but what if it makes things weird, what if he realizes he doesn’t like it, what if-

While Louis’s fighting himself internally Harry must decide it’s not worth it, shaking his head a little bit and moving to pull away for real. Louis’s entire body rejects the idea and before he knows what he’s doing he’s reaching out to grab Harry’s face, pulling him back, and kissing him so hard Harry yelps a little into his mouth.

Harry is frozen for a minute, until Louis slides one hand around the back of his neck and holds him, softening the press of their lips, and finally Harry figures out how to react and kisses him back. 

He nearly knocks Louis over with the force of it, surging forward and kissing the breath out of Louis’s lungs. Louis whines quietly and moves his hands to hold Harry’s hips while Harry’s arms wrap around his shoulders, cradling him while he kisses him senseless, and then some.

When they finally pull away, Harry crumbles, collapsing into Louis’s chest and holding him tight. “Fuck,” he whimpers, pressing his nose into Louis’s sternum and holding him like he’s afraid Louis’s going to run away. “Fucking hell, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Louis asks, panting slightly, combing his hand through Harry’s dirty hair. “I initiated that.”

Harry freezes a little, pulling away half an inch. “You did? I can’t really remember, think I blacked out,” he mutters.

Louis can’t help but laugh, hugging Harry close to his chest. They stay like that for a while, the sun finally breaking through the clouds outside, shining a bit more light through the doorway of the dim hut and making Harry’s hair glow golden where Louis’s still playing with it.

After a while Harry sits up, glancing at Louis’s face for half a second and then looking down. “So, um,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers in his lap and, god, Louis can’t do this.

“Don’t,” he says quickly, starling Harry a little. “God, please, let’s not do that. Let’s just not talk about it, okay? The only reason I didn’t do that earlier is because I was afraid to have to talk about it after, and now I’ve gone and done it and I really don’t want to have to talk about it,” he says, rubbing at his face.

Harry is quiet for a long few minutes, and Louis thinks he might have upset him, but he’s too afraid to look up at Harry’s face to find out.

“Can-” Harry says eventually, cutting himself off and sighing a little. “Can we, like, keep doing it, though? Like, we don’t have to talk about it, but can we keep kissing?” he asks hopefully.

Louis blinks, looking up at him. “Yeah, if you want to,” he says, a little surprised.

“I want to,” Harry says, glancing down at Louis’s mouth. “I want to.”

“Cool,” Louis smiles, watching Harry’s lips quirk up, as well. “I wasn’t expecting that to be so easy.”

Harry huffs a tiny laugh and leans back in, catching Louis’s lips in the gentlest, sweetest kiss Louis’s ever had, probably. He lays Louis down with it, hovering over him and kissing him so tenderly it makes Louis’s heart hurt, the taste of berries still sweet in his mouth. It goes on forever, Harry’s hand cupping Louis’s jaw, until Louis feels like his entire body is made of putty and all he knows how to do is grip Harry’s biceps and let himself be kissed. 

The birds are singing when Harry finally pulls away, pushing himself up on his elbows to hover over Louis, gazing down at him. Louis’s heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest, and he forces himself to breathe deep as he turns his face to look out the doorway.

“It’s sunny again,” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry says, not taking his eyes off of Louis’s face.

“We should go do something,” Louis says, full of jitters suddenly, eager to get out from under Harry.

“What’s there to do?” Harry frowns, pushing his hand through Louis’s hair. Louis fights the urge to melt into it, shrugging one shoulder.

“I don’t know, finish the fire pit, find something to have for dinner. I’m sure there’s something that needs to be done,” he says.

Harry looks a little put off, a little skeptical, but he nods after a moment. “Alright, yeah,” he says, climbing off of Louis.

Louis jumps to his feet and helps Harry up, hardly sparing a second before he ducks out of the hut. Harry follows him quickly, still looking confused about the change of plans.

There are a few leaves that got blown off the roof of the hut, so that will have to be fixed, and the entire clearing looks a mess from the rain, and it’s making Louis itchy under his skin. Harry won’t take his eyes off him, either, which isn’t making anything better, so Louis turns around and gives him a smile.

“Why don’t you work on fixing the roof,” he says, gesturing to the missing patch of leaves. “I’m going to go check the jugs on the beach, they’re probably overflowing.”

Harry nods and reluctantly turns away to get to work, and Louis hurries out to the beach. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, why he feels so squirmy and weird, but he kind of wants to crawl out of his skin as he checks the jugs and gets a fire going in the fire pit to boil the water clean.

He feels a little bit sick, honestly, because now that he’s kissed Harry, he’s realizing that he does feel weird about it. He doesn’t know why; it shouldn't be weird, there’s nothing to be weird about. They both liked it, they both want to keep doing it, and Louis doesn’t want to talk about it and Harry’s willing to not talk about it, so why does it seem so weird?

Louis just kind of wants to avoid Harry for the rest of the day now, which sucks, because he’s sending mixed signals and that’s so, so unfair to Harry. He thinks that maybe he’s scared, or something, because he liked it so much. Part of him just wants to go back to the hut and spread Harry out and kiss him all over, and that’s terrifying to him, because he’s honestly never felt that way about a person before. The only time he’s ever been in love, this part always felt like an obligation, and now he’s wondering if he’s ever even been in love at all. He thinks about Charles, and how unsure he was to spend the rest of his life with him, and then he thinks about Harry, and about being stuck here forever with him, and he’s absolutely terrified to realize that he really doesn’t mind the idea of spending the rest of his life with Harry, even here, even like this.

He absolutely does not want to discuss it, though, because he’s terrified Harry won’t feel the same way. What if Harry is still just blindly attracted to him, and is only so eager to kiss him because it’s fun, a good way to pass the time? Or, even worse, what if he does feel the same way Louis does? Then they’re both going to want things, and everything is going to get so much more complicated, and that’s just so gross and so not what Louis needs or wants right now.

He spends a long while fucking about with the water, boiling to to purify it and then evening it out between all of the jugs, taking a few long walks up and down the beach to clear his head while each jug boils one at a time.

Eventually Harry makes his way out to the beach, while Louis’s sitting in the sand beside the fire pit waiting for the last jug of water to boil. Louis’s lost his mind at least three times this afternoon, but he does his best to hide it when Harry sits down next to him, staring wordlessly at the jug.

“Roof’s fixed,” Harry says, picking at his nails like nothing is wrong, like he can’t tell that Louis is spooked. He must be able to tell, Louis thinks, because Louis is acting so strange, but if he notices that anything is off, he’s doing a great job pretending he doesn’t.

“Cool,” Louis says, not taking his eyes off the jug. 

Neither of them say anything for a bit, until finally the water boils and Louis takes it off the fire, setting it down on the sand with the others to cool. 

He thinks briefly about telling Harry what’s on his mind, that maybe he would prefer talking about all of this after all. Maybe if he’s just honest with him, Harry will help him figure it out, and they can talk about it and Louis can stop feeling like he’s gonna puke every time Harry is near him. But, then again, he could just maintain that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and he can just keep kissing Harry for absolutely free with no consequences and no hard conversations, and that sounds like the easier of the two options. 

“Maybe we should make some more jugs,” Harry says, watching over Louis’s shoulder as he rearranges the jugs in the sand just for something to do with his hands. “We could have more water on hand, and we wouldn’t have to worry about running out.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, picking up a few of the jugs and standing up. “Help me carry these back to the hut?”

Harry grabs the last few jugs and follows Louis back to the hut, lining up all the jugs on the floor against the wall to keep them safe. “Should we go make some more now?” Harry asks, pushing his hair out of his face and looking up at Louis.

Louis’s heart flutters a little when Harry meets his eyes, and he fucking hates himself for not being able to make up his mind. One minute he wants to run from Harry and pretend nothing happened, and the next minute all he wants to do is kiss him for hours, until they both forget about the rest of the world. He needs to figure this all out, and he needs to do it before one or both of them gets hurt, but right now all he seems to be able to do is step close enough to Harry to breathe the same air, staring up at him.

“Gonna be dark soon,” he says, draping his arms over Harry’s shoulders and kissing him chastely. “We can do it tomorrow.”

Harry responds by grabbing Louis’s hips and kissing him again, holding him close and letting Louis pull him down so he doesn’t have to lean up so far to kiss him. Louis tugs him away from the doorway and then down to the floor, lying Harry back and straddling his waist. Harry watches him silently, ready to do whatever Louis asks of him, but all Louis wants to do is stoop down and kiss him for hours, so that’s exactly what he does.

They take a break to eat dinner and get ready for bed, and then Louis falls asleep on top of Harry, lips pressed to his neck. It’s a lovely way to pass the time, kissing Harry, much better than anything else Louis could be doing. And, he supposes, if he’s going to spend the rest of his life dying on this island, he might as well find a way to enjoy his time.

-

Everything gets a little more real the night Louis puts the 30th tally in his time keeping tree. It simultaneously feels like they’ve been here forever and like they only just got here, but Louis feels a little bit numb as he walks back toward the hut, just wanting to lay down with Harry and be kissed until he falls asleep.

It’s been a while since the whole kissing thing started, and they still haven’t talked about it, even though Louis’s pretty sure they both want to. They’re both pretending that everything’s fine, and it is, for the most part, but Louis kinda sorta maybe wants more, and Harry probably just wants to know what the fuck is happening inside Louis’s head.

He’s managed to stop being so distant and ambivalent, which is good, because it makes Harry seem a little less unsure about everything. Louis’s still not entirely sure what he wants, but having Harry at ease makes him feel a little more at ease, too.

He finds Harry on the floor by the fireplace when he ducks into the hut, trying to start the fire with two sticks. The lighter finally ran out of juice a couple days ago, and they’ve been making due with starting fires the old fashioned way, but only Harry really has the patience for it. 

“Hey,” he says, plopping down on the floor beside Harry, earning himself a little smile in reply. “Do you realize we’ve been here for thirty days?”

“What?” Harry frowns, glancing over at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Louis says. “I just put the 30th tally on the tree. I can’t believe it,” he says.

“Who would’ve imagined that so much could change in thirty days,” Harry says, scoffing quietly. “A month ago we were just regular people living our regular lives, and now we’re the only two survivors of a fucking shipwreck,” he says. “I mean, if you’d told me a month ago that I’d be here right now…” he trails off with another little scoff.

“I’d never have fucking got on the ship in the first place,” Louis finishes the thought, leaning back on his hands.

Harry doesn’t say anything, pausing in his efforts to start the fire for a moment. Louis watches him keep rubbing the sticks together until finally the tiny flame starts, and he catches the pile of leaves and twigs with it until the fire starts growing steadily.

They sit in silence for a bit, watching the flames, until Harry sighs and climbs to his feet. “I’m gonna go for a walk, I’m not really tired yet,” he says, pulling on his shoes. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Just like that, he’s gone, and Louis’s left frowning at the doorway. Louis feels like he missed something, like Harry’s upset and he has no idea why, but if Harry wants a few minutes alone, Louis will let him have it.

He grabs his blanket and lies down by the fire, staring up at the ceiling of the hut and letting his mind wander. He can’t stop thinking about Harry, about him coming back and kissing Louis until they’re both too tired to keep going, or about why Harry doesn’t want that, too. Eventually he decides he can’t sleep, either, so he gets up and wanders out to the beach to look for Harry.

He finds him lying on his blanket down by the water, looking up at the sky. Louis tries to make a lot of noise as he approaches so he won’t startle Harry, but Harry jumps anyway when Louis finally leans into his field of vision.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, looking at Harry upside down as he stands over him.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, watching him for a moment before looking back to the sky. Louis walks around the blanket and sits down beside him, looking out at the water. “Just thinking about what you said.”

Louis frowns, keeping his eyes out on the water, trying to remember what he said. “Which part?” he says, wrapping his arms around his knees to keep himself warm when a cool breeze blows over the beach.

“That you never would have gotten on the boat if you knew we were going to end up here,” Harry says, his voice quiet.

Louis takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his eyes tracing the darkened horizon. He thinks of the ship somewhere out there, on the bottom of the ocean, and all the people who didn’t get a chance to wonder if they’d like to go back and do things differently.

“Would you have gotten on the ship?” Louis asks, still not glancing back at Harry. 

“No,” Harry says quickly, too quickly, and then he sighs. “I don’t know.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, going very, very still and waiting for Harry to continue. He feels like if he breaks the silence right now Harry will never say what he’s actually thinking, and Louis is suddenly desperate to know.

“I mean, _no_ ,” Harry says finally, “this is horrible, and if I had the chance to avoid it, I obviously would have. But, like, at the same time, like, I met you, and I never would have met you otherwise. Like, we might have bumped into each other in the street or the tube or, like, Tesco, or something, but who’s to say we ever would have become part of each other’s lives? And, I mean, I don’t know if my life would be, like, good if I had avoided this but never met you,” he says. “You know? Like maybe I was just destined to meet you, and my life would suck even more than this right now if I hadn’t got on the ship.”

Louis stays quiet for a long few minutes, letting that sink in. He’s definitely had that thought, as well, but he’s still not really sure if he believes it. But, then again… “I shop at Sainsbury’s,” he says, finally, his voice startling even himself.

“What?” Harry says, letting out a frustrated sort of laugh. “Is that what you took away from what I just said?”

“No, I mean like,” Louis sighs, finally turning around to look at Harry. “I don’t shop at Tesco. I shop at Sainsbury’s. The closest Tesco is too far away to walk to, and there’s a Sainsbury’s right around the corner, so why would I ever go that far for groceries? And I almost never take the tube, not day to day, anyway. I either take the bus, or I walk.”

Harry looks bewildered, and a bit like he wants to scream, like he has no idea what Louis is trying to say. Louis laughs a little and shakes his head, feeling a little bit delirious as he looks down at Harry.

“What I’m trying to say is that I never would have run into you at Tesco, or on the tube, or wherever else. Our paths probably never would have crossed, at least, not closely enough that we ever would have met. I never would have met you if not for this ship,” he says, watching the realization dawn over Harry’s face.

“Oh,” he says, looking away from Louis and back up at the sky, frowning a little.

“Yeah,” Louis says, shifting to lie down beside him. “But is meeting me really worth all of this?”

Harry swallows, staring resolutely at the sky, even as Louis glances over at him. “I mean, obviously I hate all of this, you know, being here, struggling to survive, missing home. Obviously I’d rather be at home right now, and obviously I’d like to have avoided all the trauma that’s come with this entire ordeal, but, like… I don’t know. I just feel like I’m destined to know you. I don’t know, maybe it doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “I don’t know.”

“I thought you said that you believe we make our own meaning in life,” Louis says. “You know, that the universe doesn’t care, and we make our own destiny,” he says.

Harry blinks at the sky and then turns to look at him, watching his face for a long, silent moment, only the sound of the waves covering up the tension. “Yeah,” he says finally, decisively. 

It hits Louis like a punch to the gut, that one, solid word. This is the destiny Harry’s making for himself, Harry’s finding meaning in Louis being in his life, and Louis feels both like the most important thing in the universe and like he wants to go hide and wait for this all to be over.

“I feel like we have our most profound conversations under the stars,” he says, looking up at the sky, because it’s easier to make a joke and brush this all off than it is to admit that maybe Harry’s part of the destiny Louis’s making for himself, too.

Harry huffs a laugh and rolls over, right on top of Louis, and leans in to kiss him gently. Louis holds Harry’s hips and lets himself be kissed and, yeah, this is what he was wanting. 

They kiss until they fall asleep, Louis first, and then Harry with his face buried in Louis’s neck, still stretched out on top of him. It’s cold out, but they keep each other warm until the sun comes up, until Louis is hiding his face in Harry’s shoulder to keep the light out of his eyes.

He wakes up slowly, all of his limbs asleep from being pinned under Harry’s weight for so long, his neck a little stiff from sleeping on the ground without a pillow. He rolls his neck to pop it, careful not to wake Harry, opening his eyes slowly and blinking at the horizon.

Something small and dark catches his eye, just slightly in front of the horizon, moving slowly through Louis’s field of vision. Louis blinks once, twice, three times before it clicks in his mind, and his only available reaction is to scream.

He shoves Harry off of him and clambers to his feet, screaming and shouting as he bolts down to the water, waving his arms like a madman. Harry, having just had the rudest awakening of his life, scrambles to follow him, dazed and confused.

“Louis, what the fuck,” he says, trying to catch Louis’s wrist to settle him, but Louis bats him away and keeps screaming.

“A ship! There’s a ship!” Louis shrieks, pointing to the tiny ship on the horizon, slowly gliding along. “Quickly, start a fire or something! We have to make them notice us!”

Harry blinks like he thinks Louis is crazy, and maybe Louis is crazy, but he can’t sit here and do nothing when the first hint of civilization he’s seen in a month is right there on the horizon. Harry sets off to start a fire, like Louis told him to, and Louis continues screaming and flailing and splashing while the ship grows smaller and smaller, finally blinking out of sight over the horizon.

Louis’s voice breaks on one final scream and then he falls silent, frantically looking for any sign that the ship was there at all. He falls to his knees in the shallow water and chokes on a sob, all the energy draining out of his body. 

Harry’s there, suddenly, kneeling beside him and rubbing at his shoulder. “Hey,” he says soothingly, like he can tell Louis is about to shatter. “That was something, at least, right? We know that ships come by here sometimes now, and maybe next time they’ll come closer, and we’ll be ready, and we can get their attention,” he says.

Louis nods, still staring at the horizon even as his vision starts swimming. He tries to breathe in and breaks, slumping over into Harry’s lap and sobbing bitterly, angrily.

“Oh no,” Harry breathes, holding Louis tight, shifting them out of the water and then tugging Louis close to his chest. “Hey, we’re okay, yeah? This is okay, this means there’s hope for us, Lou. This means we have a chance,” he says, but his voice is shaking too, Louis can hear it.

Louis doesn’t really know what he means, has no idea how this means anything other than that they’re completely and utterly fucked. He lets Harry keep talking, though, lets him think he’s helping, even though Louis has never felt so helpless and hopeless in his entire life.

They sit there for a while, until Louis is done crying, until he feels like he can feel all his fingers and toes again, isn’t so completely, entirely numb. Harry just keeps rubbing his back and his shoulders and his head and holding him and finally Louis feels okay enough to pull away, sniffling once and staring at his own lap.

“I think we should keep that fire burning all the time,” he says. “We need to make sure there’s lots of smoke all the time so that maybe someone will notice it and come find us. Who knows how many ships come by here in the night, or when we’re not paying attention? Who knows how many ships we’ve already missed?” he says, glancing up at Harry.

Harry nods, reaching out to wipe Louis’s cheeks where they’re still a little bit wet with tears. “I think that’s a good idea,” he says, giving Louis an encouraging little smile.

Louis blinks and then falls back into Harry’s chest, closing his eyes and listening to Harry’s heartbeat through his shirt. He feels so defeated, so drained and depressed, and he doesn’t know how Harry doesn’t feel the same way, but he supposes he’s glad he doesn’t. One of them needs to be strong right now, and unfortunately it needs to be Harry, since Louis can’t even bring himself to open his eyes again now that he’s let them close.

They end up sitting there for most of the day, because Louis doesn’t really see the point in moving, and Harry’s probably afraid that if he lets go of Louis right now, Louis will just disappear into the sand and cease to exist. Honestly, Louis’s afraid of the same thing. Harry just keeps rubbing his back and kissing his head and telling him everything’s going to be fine, like he’s convincing anyone except himself. 

Louis spends the next three days obsessing over the fire, spending nearly every hour of each day doing laps around the island, looking for ships on the horizon. Harry must think he’s broken, or something, or maybe just completely cracked up, because he gives Louis a wide berth and does whatever is asked of him without question, which usually is just keeping the fire smoky and preparing the food while Louis is scanning the sea for any signs of life.

They take turns getting up during the night to check on the fire, but as time goes on Louis is really the only one that does it, waking up every two hours to run out to the beach and check it. 

He’s getting more and more depressed with every passing day, because every time the sun sets and Louis has seen no sign of any passing ships, he feels a little more hope slip out of his heart. He feels like they’re never going to get off of this island, and he’s starting to realize how terrifying that is.

The worst part of the whole thing might be that he hasn’t kissed Harry in days. He’s been too busy to stop for even a moment to let himself enjoy something, and when he’s not running around looking for ships and making sure the fire is alright, he’s too depressed to do anything but stare at the wall. Harry hasn’t even tried to touch him once, anyway, probably afraid that Louis will just shatter if he touches him the wrong way.

Time keeps passing, days keep slipping by, and Harry’s keeping up with the tallies on the tree but Louis has no idea what day it is anymore, and he doesn’t really care, either. All he wants is to get off the island, to go home, to see his dog and his siblings and drink a cup of tea and sleep in a fucking bed. 

Harry catches and cooks some birds for dinner, and then Louis checks the fire one more time before bed, before letting Harry coax him back to the hut. This has become their unspoken nighttime routine, and it works, until it doesn’t.

Louis falls asleep restlessly with Harry’s arms around him, but he only sleeps for a few hours before he snaps himself awake, pushing Harry away gently and getting up to go check on the fire, make sure it’s still burning and producing smoke, maybe see if there are any ships on the horizon. Harry doesn’t let him go, though, tightening his arms around Louis’s middle and keeping him from getting up.

“Stay,” Harry mutters, pressing his face into Louis’s back. “Just keep cuddling me.”

“I have to go check the fire,” Louis whispers, trying to pry Harry’s hands off of him. “Harry, let go. What if it’s gone out and there’s a ship or an airplane or something going by?”

“You checked it two hours ago,” Harry says. “It’s fine, and it’s not going to make a difference right now, anyway. Just sleep, please, I’m worried you’re going to make yourself ill if you don’t get some proper rest,” he says, forcing Louis back down to cuddle him.

Louis lies still for a moment, and then turns over to face Harry. Harry blinks his eyes open a crack, looking up at Louis’s face.

“What happens if we never get home,” Louis breathes, staring at Harry’s nose instead of looking at his eyes. “What happens if we’re stuck here forever?”

“I’m getting really sick of you asking that,” Harry says, and he’s joking, but it makes Louis’s blood boil a little.

“Well, fuck, Harry, I guess I’ll just bottle it all up like you do and let it fucking tear me apart, would that make you happier?” he spits, sitting up quickly. Harry lets him go this time, shocked and taken aback.

“I don’t bottle anything up,” Harry argues, sitting up as well. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“Yeah fucking right,” Louis scoffs. “You pretend to be so optimistic and go with the flow and that’s fucking _bullshit_ , Harry. I know you’re scared too, and I don’t know why you try to hide it from me,” he says.

“I’m not hiding anything, what the fuck,” Harry says, shaking his head.

“Just show me your emotions one time, then,” Louis says, glaring at him. “Just fucking tell me how you’re feeling _one time_ , instead of holding it all in until you break. Just fucking admit that you’re sad and scared and miserable and you’re afraid we’re never gonna get off this island too, just fucking say it one fucking time!” he says. He’s not shouting, but he’s getting there, his frustration boiling over in his gut like a kettle.

“Alright, fucking fine!” Harry shouts, his voice loud and deep suddenly. “I am fucking terrified that we’re never going to get off this island! Yeah, I’m absolutely fucking miserable being stuck here, and yeah I’d rather fucking die than never see my family or my friends or London ever again. Are you fucking happy now, Louis? Jesus, obviously I’m feeling all of those things, but I don’t know why you want me to be as fucking whiny and miserable and pessimistic and absolutely unbearable as you are,” he seethes.

“I’m not whiny, Harry, I’m realistic,” Louis argues. “And I’m not going to give myself false hope because, honestly, the truth of the matter is we’re never going to _fucking_ get off this island, because no one knows we’re here, and no one even knows this island _exists_! Maybe we’re better off dead, anyway, god knows it’d be easier than continuing to fucking deal with all of this,” he spits.

“Shut up!” Harry growls, rubbing at his face and tugging at his hair a little. “Shut up, shut up, shut _up_ , you depressed piece of shit, fuck, the only reason I’m staying so optimistic all the time is for _you_! So that you don’t fucking spiral like that! Do you think I want to have to be the strong one, here? Because I don’t! I really don’t, Louis, I’d love to fucking crash and burn like you’ve been doing, and cry and whine and moan and stomp my feet and play the victim, but there’s not enough room for two in that rabbit hole, Louis, and I’m not letting us both destroy ourselves like that,” he says.

“No one is saying you have to be the bigger person,” Louis says, disgusted that Harry’s putting himself on some kind of pedestal like that. “I’m not fucking counting on you for anything, I’m just trying to get us off this fucking island, and you’re just prancing around pretending everything is fine and dandy. Well, guess what! It fucking isn’t! So pull your head out of your arse and stop acting all high and mighty, and realize that neither of us are in the right right now. We need to fucking be a team, or we’re going to kill each other before we ever get the chance to go home,” he says, his hands shaking a little bit as Harry shoves the blanket off his body and gets up.

Harry just shouts in frustration and turns to leave, stopping just inside the doorway of the hut and turning around to glare at Louis one more time. “You know what,” he says, voice deathly quiet suddenly. “I changed my mind. I wish I’d never got on that fucking ship, or met you at all.” With that he storms off, disappearing into the night.

Louis sits back against the wall of the hut and fumes for a long few minutes, wanting to follow Harry and wring his neck for being so difficult and annoying. Before long, though, the anger just fades into bone crushing sadness, and he sags a little as the tears start falling.

He’s been crying a lot, recently, but this is the first time he’s cried because of Harry, and it is by far the most terrible feeling in the world.

He doesn’t know where Harry went, or what he’s doing, but he just hopes he’s not out there in the dark doing something stupid because he’s upset, too. Louis just wants him to come back and he wants them both to apologize and then he wants to fall asleep in Harry’s arms again, but right now Harry doesn’t even want to know him, so Louis supposes he’ll just have to wait and see what happens in the morning.

He doesn’t end up going to check on the fire, after all, because he’d much rather just go to sleep and maybe die before he wakes up, so he just lies back down and curls up under the blanket and stares at the wall until the sun comes up.

Eventually he gets up and drags himself out to the beach, throwing some more sticks on the fire and tending it for a little while to make sure it won’t go out.

There’s no sign of Harry on the beach or anywhere else, but Louis supposes that if he wanted to be seen he would be here, so he doesn’t bother looking for him. He eats some fruit for breakfast and then spends a long few hours throwing rocks into the water, wandering around the island and keeping his eye out for ships and airplanes.

He loses track of time, too caught up with checking the fire and staring at the horizon, as per usual, and then it starts to get dark and he still hasn’t seen a single trace of Harry. He’s a little worried that Harry went off and got himself killed somewhere in the woods, but he doesn’t want to go looking for him in case Harry is still blowing off steam and doesn't want to be found yet. 

He finds a crab in the sand as the tide is going out and cooks it for dinner, but he can only stomach about half of it. He leaves the rest of it by the fire pit just in case Harry might want the rest of it when he finally comes back to show his face, but Louis spends the entire evening waiting by the fire and Harry is still nowhere to be seen.

Going back to the hut by himself is the last thing he wants to do, because falling asleep without Harry is hard enough, but falling asleep by himself knowing that Harry is just out on the island somewhere being angry with him seems damn near impossible. He goes to grab his blanket and then heads back to the beach, lying down near the fire and staring at the sky as he tries to get his mind to settle down enough to sleep.

He must drift off at some point, because the next time he opens his eyes the sky is completely dark, the moon shining bright behind a haze of clouds.

The first thing he registers is that the ground is shaking, and he freezes. He’s never experienced an earthquake, but this is certainly what he imagines it would feel like, and he panics as he jumps to his feet. Half a second later he hears Harry start screaming, and then he comes bombing out of the woods like a madman.

“It’s happening!” he’s screaming, grabbing Louis by the wrist and dragging him down to the water, moving so quickly he nearly knocks Louis over. “It’s fucking happening!”

“What?” Louis shouts back, his heart beating hard in his throat. Harry looks crazed, his eyes wet with panicked tears.

“The volcano!” he screams, right in Louis’s face, like Louis is an idiot.

Louis feels his entire body go numb all at once, and he looks up over Harry’s shoulder at the volcano. He realizes then that the moon isn’t hidden behind clouds, but behind the smoke that’s pouring from the top of the hill.

“I was up there earlier, just walking around, and there were no birds or anything and it felt so strange and I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know that it was going to erupt. When I came back down you were asleep on the beach so I went to the hut to try and sleep too but then the ground started shaking and I looked up and there’s so much smoke and it’s going to erupt,” Harry says, voice trembling.

“Fuck,” he breathes, unable to take his eyes off of it. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Harry whimpers, following Louis’s line of vision and looking up at the volcano. “The boat. Grab the boat, and we can get in the water.”

Louis follows without a second thought when Harry takes off running, helping him haul the one intact lifeboat from where they stashed it behind the hut. They both nearly trip over and breaks their own necks in their haste to get it back to the beach and into the water, but finally they both jump in and push away from the shore, getting far enough away from the island that they’ll be safe if the eruption gets worse.

Harry is panting so hard he’s nearly wheezing, his entire body trembling. Louis reaches for him and pulls him into his arms, holding him against his chest so he’s forced to look away from the volcano, and eventually he begins to calm down.

It goes on for a while, smoke billowing out of the top of the volcano, but that’s all that happens. Louis is expecting some kind of dramatic explosion, hot lava pouring all over the island, but it doesn’t happen. There’s just smoke, and lots of it, darkening the entire sky over the island over the course of a few long, tense hours.

After a while it seems that the worst of the eruption is over, but Louis still doesn’t want to go back to the island until everything settles completely. It’s absolutely freezing out on the water, and both of them are just in thin clothes, no blankets or even shoes to keep them warm. Louis shifts them both to the bottom of the boat and lets Harry settle in between his legs, and they stay huddled up there, rocking gently in the waves, until the sun starts to come up.

The smoke tapers off a few minutes after sunrise, and just like that, it seems like nothing happened at all. The smoke in the air clears slowly as Louis paddles them back to the shore, jumping out of the boat and dragging it up onto the beach before helping Harry up and out of it.

They drag the boat up to the treeline and then Louis plops down in the sand, exhausted and worn out and ready to get off this fucking island right the fuck now. Harry sits down beside him, and they’ve been silent all night, but Harry’s voice is clear when he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring down at his lap. 

“So am I,” Louis says, rubbing at his face a little. “I feel horrible about what I said.”

“You were kinda right, though,” Harry admits. “But so was I.”

“I agree,” Louis says. “There’s no good way to approach the situation we’re in, I think. I’m just sorry we fought about it,” he shrugs.

“We’re doing our best,” Harry says, finally glancing over at Louis. Louis gives him a little smile, collapsing into Harry’s chest when Harry opens his arms.

They sit there for a while, just watching the waves, until finally Louis turns his face into Harry’s chest and yawns an almighty yawn.

“Why don’t we go back to the hut and have a nap?” Harry says, playing with Louis’s hair a little. “It’s been a long fucking night.”

Louis nods and picks himself up off the ground, following Harry through the woods and into the hut. They curl up together on the ground and Louis falls asleep in a matter of seconds, all of the sleep he’s missed in the past few days finally catching up with him.

They sleep for a while, the birds finally returning to the trees outside, and it’s almost the first peaceful day they’ve had in a while, until the ground starts shaking again.

Louis wakes up in a blind panic, sitting up quickly, feeling Harry start to freak out as well. Something feels weird, though, it doesn’t feel like it did before, and Louis frowns as he tries to figure out what’s different.

“It’s happening again,” Harry whimpers, tugging on Louis’s arm. “C’mon, Lou, we have to go, what if it really blows this time?”

“Shh,” Louis puts his hand over Harry’s mouth, earning himself an indignant swat. “It feels different, I don’t think it’s the volcano.”

“Then what is it?” Harry asks, getting up to peak out the doorway. “Jesus, it’s windy.”

Louis’s heart stutters when he realizes what it is, and before he even knows what’s going on, he’s jumping to his feet and running, screaming, toward the beach. Harry follows him, confused and shouting for him to stop, but Louis will be damned if he misses this.

He’s already crying by the time he breaks through the trees and out onto the beach and, just as he suspected, there’s a helicopter hovering a few hundred feet over the island. He starts jumping and screaming a little louder, flailing his limbs, relief flooding his body.

Harry is frozen in shock, watching from just outside the treeline, a slow smile spreading over his face. It feels like a dream, Louis thinks, like in a moment he’s going to wake up from his nap inside the hut and this will have all been in his imagination.

The helicopter must spot them, because it flies away a couple hundred yards and then slowly lands on the beach. Harry runs to Louis and shields him from the sand whipping around in the wind, curling around his body and laughing into his neck.

Louis feels like he could pass out, so overcome with relief and joy. He clings to Harry so his knees won’t buckle as the helicopter finally touches down, the propellers slowing to a stop.

A man jumps down from the helicopter and runs over to them, shouting something as he approaches, but Louis’s crying and shaking and he’s too overwhelmed with the blood rushing in his ears to understand what he’s saying. Harry tries to let go of him, but Louis clings on, holding his breath and the man finally reaches them and repeats himself.

He’s not speaking English, but he’s a human, and he’s got a vehicle that can get them off of this island, and that’s all Louis cares about. He’s still too shaken to say anything, so Harry takes over, petting Louis’s back soothingly while he looks at the man.

“We’re English,” Harry says, his voice trembling a little bit too. Louis doesn’t know how he’s managing to hold it together. “We’re stranded, we need help.”

“English?” the man says, looking surprised. “How did you get here?” He sounds Swedish, or something, maybe Norwegian, Louis’s too overwhelmed to tell, but he speaks perfect English.

“We were on a cruise ship that sunk a little over a month ago,” Harry says. “Our lifeboats ended up here.”

“Holy shit,” the man says, shaking his head. “That English ship that got hit by lightning? How did you end up here? That happened miles south of here,” he says.

“Are there any other survivors?” Harry asks, his voice painfully hopeful. “Did they find anyone else?”

“No,” the man says, frowning. “They figured everybody was dead. The ship went down so fast, and obviously it’s quite hard to find all the bodies to account for everyone, but there were no survivors that anybody knows of,” he says. “Well, aside from you two.”

Louis feels like he might puke, his knees trembling. He can’t believe this is real. “Where are we?” Louis asks, his voice too loud and too sudden. The man gives him a curious look, like he’s just as shaken and confused as they are.

“This is a tiny outlying island off the Faroe Islands, which are part of Denmark,” the man says. “You’re a good few miles west, though, nearly halfway to Iceland.”

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes, glancing down at Louis. Louis has never felt so disoriented in his life, has no idea how they ended up so far from home.

“Can you help us, please?” Louis says, his voice breaking a little. He’s not above begging, at the moment, but it doesn’t seem like he has to, as the man nods quickly.

“Of course, of course,” the man says, giving Louis a friendly smile. “We just came to document some volcanic activity, we had no idea this would turn into a rescue mission.”

“We saw everything,” Harry says quickly, like if they tell the whole story of the eruption, they’ll get to leave that much sooner. “Nothing came out except for smoke, but it was terrifying. Nothing was damaged, or anything,” he says.

“Where have you been living all this time?” the man asks, like the volcano is the least of his concerns now. “Do you mind if we take some photographs?”

They spend the next hour or so showing the team of Danish photographers and scientists around the island, letting them photograph the hut and their jugs and everything they made and did. Harry tells them about the bodies they buried on the beach and the things they were able to salvage from the debris that washed up on the shore, and Louis just watches everything and stays silent. The scientists seem thrilled with it all, but Louis is itching to get back to the helicopter, to finally get off of this island and go _home_.

“Well,” the man says eventually, as they’re finally heading back to the beach. “Let’s get you back to the mainland, and from there we can figure out how to get you back to England.”

Louis could cry, clinging tightly to Harry’s hand as they’re led to the helicopter. It’s a bit crowded with two extra people inside, but Louis couldn’t care less, watching out the window as they take off and turn their backs to the island.

It feels like a fever dream, watching the island grow smaller and smaller as they leave it behind. It looks even tinier from the air, and Louis can’t believe they lived there for so long, can’t believe they’re finally going home. An hour ago they were still hopeless, and now they’re being rescued, and Louis can’t believe this is real life.

It takes less than thirty minutes to get back to the mainland, which makes Louis feel a bit ill; all this time, they’ve been so close to civilization, and they were just barely too far away to get there. They’re escorted inside the airport once they touch down, and they can’t understand a word anyone is saying to them, but Louis has never been so excited to be surrounded by people.

The next plane to London doesn’t leave for another few hours, so the airport security people give Harry and Louis access to flight attendant’s lounge so they can have a shower, and both of them are given a shirt and a pair of joggers that say _Denmark_ in big letters.

Louis spends much longer in the shower than he should, but it feels almost orgasmic to finally be clean and warm, and then he gets dressed in soft, clean, brand new clothes, and he’s sure he’s never been quite this happy. When they’re both done they’re led back out to their gate, and the man that’s been put in charge of them gives them the option to order anything they’d like to eat, free of charge, and Louis nearly cries.

They order burgers and chips and eat them at their gate, sitting across from each other. The plane still doesn’t leave for another two hours or so, and there’s almost no one else in the gate with them, so it’s strangely quiet while they eat.

“Hey,” Louis says eventually, reaching out to nudge Harry’s knee with his foot. They haven’t really spoken since they got on the helicopter, too overwhelmed to speak, but Louis’s finally not shaking anymore and Harry looks like he’s settling down, as well. “I’m really sorry,” he says, looking down. “I made the last couple days really difficult, and I feel really bad. I should have listened to you when you said everything would be alright.”

“That’s okay,” Harry says, giving him a little half smile. “You didn’t know. Neither did I. Let’s just be happy everything turned out alright,” he says.

He sounds distant, distracted, and not in the way that makes Louis think he’s just excited to go home. He sounds upset about something, and there’s nothing to be upset about right now, at least not that Louis can tell.

“Are you okay?” he asks, nudging Harry’s knee again. 

Harry takes a deep breath, looking down and shrugging one shoulder. “Yeah, I mean… I don’t know. I’m so happy, like, relieved out of my mind that we’re finally going home but, like… is this, like, it? For us? Like, you aren’t going to go home and forget all about me, right?” he asks, chewing on his lip.

Louis blinks, waiting for Harry look back up at him. “Harry, I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” he says. “I mean, you said it yourself, didn’t you? We’re meant to be in each other’s lives,” he says.

Harry watches him for a moment, smiling slowly. “Good,” he says. “I was really worried this was going to be it for us,” he admits. 

“We’ve kept each other alive for over a month,” Louis says, chuckling quietly. “You’ll never be able to get rid of me now.”

“Good, I don’t want to,” Harry laughs, catching Louis’s foot between his knees when Louis goes to nudge him again. It’s strangely intimate, makes Louis blush down to his chest, and Harry must sense it too, because he lets go a moment later.

They finish their food quietly, taking their time, savoring every bite. Louis thinks he’ll never take another non-fish meal for granted for the rest of his life.

One of the airport officials comes back a little while later and asks if they’d like to use the phone, and Harry jumps up so quickly he nearly breaks his own neck. They’re each given enough coins to operate the payphone and then left alone, and Louis waits off to the side to give Harry a little privacy while he makes the first call.

He turns his back to Louis, already breathing shakily, and Louis does his best not to listen, but he can’t help it. Someone picks up on the third ring and Harry’s breath catches, his hand shaking where he’s holding the phone to his ear.

“Mum?” he says, a little choked up. “It’s Harry.”

Louis can’t hear the other side of the conversation, but Harry breaks down almost immediately when the other person starts talking. “Yeah, I’m okay,” Harry says, wiping at his face. “It’s a long story, but I’m alright. I’m in Denmark, and I’ll be home soon. They’re flying us back to London in a bit, and I’ll come straight to yours, okay?” he takes a deep breath while his mum speaks, and then he turns to give Louis a watery smile. “Yeah, his name is Louis. We’re the only two people that survived.”

Louis looks down, feeling a bit like he’s intruding. Harry turns away again after a moment and finishes his conversation quietly, hanging up the phone and stepping away.

“All yours,” he says, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his t-shirt and leaning against the wall to let Louis use the phone.

Louis’s hands tremble a little bit as he slips the coins into the machine and dials his home phone number, closing his eyes and counting the seconds until someone answers. There are so many people in his family, someone has to be home, but it’s a big house, and he can imagine them all running to answer the phone first. The younger ones think it’s a fun game, answering the phone, like whoever answers first is going to win something.

“Tomlinson Deakin household,” comes a smug voice a second later. “Daisy speaking.”

“Daisy,” Louis breathes, grinning at the sound of her voice. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Who’s speaking?” Daisy asks, but her voice is tiny, shocked, like she already knows.

“It’s Louis,” Louis says, voice trembling, so excited he can hardly stand still.

There’s a second of absolute silence, and then Daisy screams. “Louis!” she shrieks, and Louis pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing, and Harry jumps a little, too. “Holy hell! Louis! Oh my god, Fizzy! Phoebe! Come quick!”

“Language,” Louis warns, but he goes unheard, because suddenly there are five voices shrieking instead of one, and Louis sighs and holds the phone away from his ear while he waits for them to finish.

Harry giggles quietly, looking up at Louis from where he’s trying to pretend he’s not listening a few feet away. 

“Daisy,” Louis yells down the line, trying to speak over all of his siblings, listening to them fight for the phone. “Jesus Christ, give Fizzy the phone and put me on speaker!”

“Louis,” comes Fizzy’s voice finally, sounding relieved, like she’s won the fight. “Where are you? Where have you been?”

“Put me on bloody speaker and I’ll tell you,” Louis says, rolling his eyes, but still fond.

“Christ, alright,” Fizzy mutters, and then there’s a bit of a shuffle. “Right, you’re on speaker. Everyone shut up! Ernie, go run and get Daddy, okay?”

“Hi everyone,” Louis says, closing his eyes as he leans against the machine, smiling to himself. “I’m alright, and I’ll be home soon. I’m in Denmark, we had a bit of a, uh, detour, but I’ll be home by tonight, yeah? I miss you all so much. I’ve got to go, but please tell Dan and Nana what’s happened, and call Lottie and Tommy, as well. I’ll be home in a bit, okay? And I’ll tell you all everything then,” he says.

“Why are you in Denmark?” someone shouts, at the same time as someone else says, “what kind of detour lasts a month and a half?” It sends them all into another frenzy and then suddenly they’re all shouting again, and Louis rolls his eyes as he pulls the phone away from his ear.

“I have to go, I’ll see you soon,” he shouts into the phone, earning another small giggle from Harry. “I love you, goodbye!”

He hangs up the phone with a sigh, glancing over at Harry. Harry just looks amused, watching him with a little smile on his face.

“They’re so excited,” he says, giggling again when Louis rolls his eyes.

“Not every day your brother comes back from the dead, innit?” Louis jokes, nudging Harry with his shoulder. “I guarantee you they don’t even realize I’ve hung up yet. They’ll keep fighting for the phone for fifteen minutes, at least,” he laughs.

Harry just smiles and nudges him back, leading the way back to their seats and plopping down. Louis stretches out across a couple of seats, his head in Harry’s lap, and spends the next hour or so drifting in and out of consciousness while they wait for their plane.

-

It turns out that the Faroe Islands to London isn’t a terribly popular flight, so there’s only a few people on a rather small plane when they finally take off that afternoon. Louis was hoping to sleep on the plane, because he’s so exhausted he can hardly think straight, but the excitement and anticipation of seeing his family again keeps him up and buzzing for the entire five hour flight. He keeps staring out the window, waiting for the UK to come into view, bouncing his leg incessantly.

Harry is fiddling with his fingers, like he’s equally as nervous and excited. He’s got his legs crossed and he’s shaking his foot a little, bumping Louis’s knee lightly every now and again. Louis kind of wants to hold his hand, just to reassure him a little bit, but he isn’t quite sure where they stand right now.

It feels like the island was a different planet, a different plane of existence all together, like now that they’re back to civilization and finally going home, everything that happened on the island is finished, concluded. Louis has no idea if he’s still allowed to touch Harry, or kiss him, or even if he’s allowed to call him a friend. He doesn’t know if getting back to real life means that he goes back to treating Harry like any other person, if they forget that everything happened, but all he really wants is to reach over and grab Harry’s hand and ask if he can keep him.

Part of the confusion probably stems from the fact that they never actually talked about the kissing. They never went further than that, just innocent kisses and above the belt touching and cuddling, but they never talked about what it meant, what it would mean if they ever got off the island, and now that they’re here, it feels far too late.

Harry lolls his head to look at Louis after a while, and Louis drags his eyes away from the window to give him his attention. He can’t stop thinking about holding Harry’s hand, about leaning over and kissing him, asking him what it all means, anyway.

“Are you going straight back to Doncaster when we land?” Harry asks, his voice quiet. The plane is silent aside from the humming of the engines, and it makes Louis feel like they’re in a bubble, protected from everything.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home, as well. To Cheshire,” Harry says, looking down at his lap. Louis keeps watching him for a moment, until he thinks the conversation is over, but Harry pipes up again as soon as Louis looks away. “I was just thinking, like, neither of us have phones, or anything, and we’re not going to see each other for a bit… how are we going to, like, keep in touch?” he asks.

“We could exchange email addresses like it’s 1990,” Louis suggests, grinning when Harry grins. 

“Good,” Harry says, smiling at his feet. “That’s good.” He holds his own hands in his lap and Louis wonders if he’s having the same struggle that Louis’s having, if he wants to reach over and hold Louis’s hand as badly as Louis wants to hold his.

They get off the plane at Heathrow a few hours later with a napkin in each of their pockets with each other’s email address scribbled on, and Louis consciously fights the urge to touch Harry at all as they walk to security to see about getting home.

It turns out security has been waiting for them since they left the Faroe Islands, and they’re both given train passes to get wherever they need to go. They walk together to the national rail service, neither of them speaking, until they finally reach the point where they need to go in opposite directions and Harry tugs Louis off to the side of the corridor, eyes a little wet.

“This seems crazy to say, but, I’m really going to miss you,” Harry says, letting out a wet little chuckle that makes Louis’s chest ache. “I know I should be wanting to get away from you for a while but, like, I haven’t even left you yet and I already miss you,” he admits.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” Louis not letting himself get choked up as he reaches out to hug Harry quickly. His heart feels like it’s going to implode, squeezing in on itself so tightly it actually hurts. “I’ll email you as soon as I can, yeah?”

“Okay,” Harry says, wiping quickly at his eyes as they pull away. Louis stares up at him, wondering how to go about asking what he wants to ask, but Harry beats him to it. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling a little. “Yeah, please.”

“Things aren’t, like, different between us now, right?” Harry asks, holding Louis but his shoulders and watching him closely. “Like, this isn’t weird, right?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says honestly. “But kiss me now and we’ll figure the rest out later.”

Harry tugs him in and kisses him hard, wrapping his arms fully around Louis’s shoulders and holding him close. Louis holds Harry’s hips and keeps pressing forward until he can’t anymore, until Harry pulls away, leaving him breathless and all choked up.

“I’ll email you,” Harry says, backing away a few steps.

“Right,” Louis says, swaying a little on his feet. Harry gives him one last glance and then disappears into the crowded station, leaving Louis to turn around and find his own platform, his head full of clouds.

-

It’s cold on the train, and Louis is only in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, so he spends the entire journey hunched in on himself, staring out the window and letting his mind wander.

He can’t stop thinking about Harry. They only just said goodbye, and Louis definitely should not be wishing he was here right now; he should be happy to finally have some time to himself, to be alone for a few minutes, to not have to depend on him and know where he is all the time. Instead, though, he just wants Harry to be next to him, wants to bring him home and keep him forever.

He’s getting some weird looks from other people on the train, probably because he’s decked out head to toe in Denmark merch and he doesn’t have a single bag or item with him. All he really wants is to get home and have some real food and sleep in a real bed, and swindle one of his sisters into letting him use their computer so he can email Harry and tell him how much he already misses him.

He gets a cab home from the train station when he finally arrives in Doncaster, exhaustion and excitement battling in his chest. He feels like he’s been caught in a tornado for a month and a half and he’s finally free from it, the severity of everything that’s happened crashing down on him like a weight as he stumbles up the walkway to the front door. 

His entire family is on him as soon as he gets inside, all of them fighting to hug him and kiss his face and ask him what the hell happened. Dan goes outside to pay the cab driver and Louis sinks down on the sofa with all of his siblings piling on top of him, fielding their questions like a professional until they all settle down a little to let him speak.

“Last we all heard,” Lottie says, pressed into Louis’s side with Doris on her lap, both of them cuddled close, “was that the ship got struck by lightning and sunk within the hour. The news said there weren’t any survivors at all,” she says.

“Yeah, it all happened so incredibly fast, and the lifeboats weren’t really working out very well for a lot of people, plus everyone was panicking, so it was bound to be tragic,” Louis says. “They didn’t find any survivors because they didn’t look hard enough, I guess. We ended up on some tiny island near Iceland, which is, like, miles and miles north of where the ship went down. No one could figure out how we got there,” he says.

“We?” Lottie says, frowning up at him. “There were other people there?”

Louis’s mouth goes a little dry, thinking of Harry. He has no idea how to tell them about him, how to introduce him, how to tell them exactly how important Harry is to him.

“Yeah, just me and one other random guy,” Louis says. He can’t do it, can’t tell them yet. Harry feels like a dirty little secret, something he wants to keep all for himself, something he doesn’t want to share yet. 

“Oh,” Lottie says, looking down.

“So,” Phoebe says, apparently the only one brave enough to ask, “Charles?”

Louis swallows hard, looking down. He shakes his head once, can’t bear to say it out loud, like if he confirms it Charles really will be dead and gone forever. The room goes painfully silent, and Lottie hugs him a little tighter, and Louis does his best to breathe past the lump in his throat.

Nobody really asks any more questions for the rest of the evening. They have a roast dinner and then Louis takes another shower, just because he can, just because it all still feels like a fever dream and he’s going to wake up on the island any moment now and he wants to enjoy every little thing he can before that happens.

He borrows Lottie’s laptop before he goes to bed, curling up under the covers with it in his childhood bedroom and fishing the napkin out of his sweatpants pocket. He types in Harry’s email address and saves it to his contacts, taking a long few minutes to compose a message, unsure of whether he should make it long and honest or quick and painless.

He goes for the latter, because it’s easier, or at least it says so on the tin. _Hi Harry_ , he writes, _it’s Louis. I’m home, I’m fed, and I’ve never been happier. Idk when i’ll be back in London, but hopefully we’ll be able to see each other when we get there. My mate still has my dog, so i’ll have to be back soon !_

After the message is sent he curls up and falls asleep, and even though he’s in a comfy bed in a warm room in a warm house surrounded by the people he loves, all he wants as he drifts off to sleep is a pair of strong arms around him and a head of dirty curls in his face.

-

He spends three days in Doncaster before he figures it’s time to start living his life again, and Lottie and Tommy offer to drive him back to London on their way to their flat. It’s a long drive, and Louis spends most of it staring out the window in the backseat of Lottie’s car, composing emails to Harry in his head.

He hasn’t checked his email since he sent the first message to Harry, but he’s hoping that he’ll find a reply when he gets home. He didn’t bring his laptop on the ship, thankfully, so it’ll still be sitting in his flat when he gets there. He’ll have to replace almost everything else; his clothes, his passport, his phone, and everything else he brought with him to the cruise. Lottie’s already promised to take him out tomorrow to get a new phone and sort out all of his credit cards and cash, and Louis might try to talk her into going clothes and food shopping with him, as well. He feels like he has so much to do to get his life back in order, it’s frustrating and overwhelming and he just wants to close his eyes and go back to the way everything was before.

He’s fine, mostly. He isn’t having any nightmares, or anything, like people sometimes do after traumatic events, and he’s physically healthy, if only a bit thinner than usual. He just feels lost, like someone put his entire world in a jar and shook it, and now he’s trying to orient himself in a place that’s all wrong and out of order.

They pick up Clifford from Stan’s place on the way home, which gives Louis a semblance of his old life back, and then Lottie drives him back to his flat. 

“Want us to come up with you?” Lottie asks, once they’re parked in front of Louis’s building. “We can help you get Clifford settled, take him for a walk, whatever?”

“I think I’m alright, Lotts,” Louis says, collecting Clifford’s bag and grabbing his leash as he steps out of the car. “Thanks for everything, guys. Love you,” he hums, giving Lottie a hug over the console.

“Call us if you need anything,” Lottie says. “Seriously, anything. Even if you’re just lonely and you want to come round for a pizza.”

“Thanks,” Louis says again, giving her a small smile. “I’ll text you from my laptop later.”

Clifford seems absolutely thrilled to be home, and to be with Louis, squirming around and trying to jump on Louis the whole ride up in the lift. Louis focuses all of his attention on him, because maybe it’ll make it hurt less when he get into his flat and has to deal with looking at all of Charles’s things.

He fishes for the key they keep on top of the doorframe and then lets himself into the flat, taking Clifford off his leash so he can do a few excited laps around the living room. Louis feels like his body is full of rocks as he drops Clifford’s bag by the door and kicks off his shoes, shuffling into the kitchen.

The apartment is old, somewhat creaky, but it seems even more creaky and eerie than usual as he walks around. He snoops through the cupboards for a moment to see if he has anything edible, finds one of Charles’s favorite granola bars in the snack drawer and makes a mental note to do a grocery list later. 

He eats it while he shuffles back through the doorway out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom, pushing open the door and keeping his eyes down, not wanting to look around. The room is still messy and disheveled from the morning they left, because Louis had waited until the last moment to pack and then rushed to get everything done.

He finds his laptop under the bed and brings it back to the living room, sitting down on the sofa and letting Clifford curl up next to him. The flat feels so quiet and empty and weird, and he hates it. It’s warm and comfortable and Louis himself is soft and clean and safe and that’s a hell of a lot more than he’s had in a while, but still he feels so, so incredibly wrong in his own skin.

He almost kind of misses the codependency of being stuck on the island with Harry, of always knowing that someone was there, that someone was going to sleep next to him, that someone was going to be there when he woke up in the morning. He’s so happy to be home, but he’d be happier if he could just go back in time.

The power is off, because he hasn’t been around to pay his bills in almost two months, so the first thing he does when he opens his laptop is pay all of his bills. He makes sure to get the power and water bills first, so that he can have a hot shower and make some pasta for dinner later, and then he logs into his email.

There are three messages waiting from Harry, one for every full day they’ve been apart. It makes Louis smile, and he takes his time reading through them, petting Clifford’s head distractedly.

 **[23 August ]** _Hi Louis, I just got home too and the first thing my mother did was feed me and then force me to go to the doctor to make sure I’m not ill. I’m not, which is good! Everyone is so happy I’m home, and I’m obviously really happy too, but it feels really weird to not be with you right now. It feels like Stockholm Syndrome, or something. Like, obviously you weren’t holding me captive, but you kept me alive and I fucking miss you so much. Anyway, I’m happy you’re happy. Talk to you soon xx. Harry_

 **[24 August]** _Good morning! My mum’s cat doesn’t recognize me. I’m crushed. I think she’ll realize who I am soon, like when everyone comes round for Christmas and she hides for ages until she realizes she knows everyone in the house. I hope your pets are healthy and happy and that they’re excited you’re home. I hope they at least remember who you are, for fuck’s sake._

_I keep having dreams about the island. Not nightmares, just dreams that we’re back there, and I’m with you. I can’t tell if it’s the island my brain is missing, or if it’s you, but if I had to put money on it I’d guess the latter. I can’t wait to get to know you outside of the island so my brain can stop putting me back there in my sleep. I hope your dreams have been pleasant xx. Harry_

**[25 August]** _I do realize I’ve emailed you every day and I promise I’m not stalking you, nor am I usually this annoying. Well, I’m pretty annoying, but I’ve been told it’s endearing. Anyway, I’ll be back in London tomorrow, if you want to try and meet up. I’d really love to see you. I don’t know what your plans are, and you’re probably very busy meeting up with your friends and everything, but let me know if you’ve got any free days soon and we can plan something. All the love xx. Harry_

Louis reads through each of them a few times before he clicks to reply to the last one, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he sifts through all of the things he wants to say to Harry in his mind. He wants to keep the email brief, because he’s rather say most of what he’s thinking in person, anyway.

_Hi Harry, I got back to London today, so I’ll be around. My sister is taking me out tomorrow to run some errands and replace some of the shit i lost, but we should be done in the afternoon i think. Why don’t you come round mine tomorrow night and we’ll order in some takeaway? Been craving pizza for ages ! i also might miss you a bit….. Let me know ! Louis_

He presses send before he can overthink it, closing his laptop and putting it down on the coffee table while he gets up. He fills Clifford’s bowl with some food and then heads to the shower, pleased when he finds that he does in fact have hot water. He’s taken more showers in the past few days than he could ever need but he can’t get over how good it feels, and he’s looking forward to the day when he doesn’t still feel itchy and wrong in his own skin.

He makes himself some dinner and goes to bed early, curling up on his side of the bed and staring up at the ceiling. The king size bed feels absolutely massive when he’s in it alone, and though he’s trying to convince himself he wants Charles to be next to him, all he really wants is to just not be alone.

“Clifford,” he calls, smiling when he hears him bounding down the hallway to the bedroom. He usually doesn’t let Clifford sleep in the bed, mostly because Charles always complained, but right now Louis just needs someone to cuddle. Clifford has no qualms about being the little spoon, lets Louis cuddle right up to him, and falls asleep almost immediately.

Louis lies awake for a bit, stroking his hand over Clifford’s tummy, staring at Charles’s dresser on the other side of the room. He’s going to have to go through his things at some point, figure out what to do with it all. He also should probably call Charles’s parents soon, since they probably could use some closure, and then he’ll have to get Charles’s name off the lease for the flat and sell his car because Louis will never use it and, god, he doesn’t want to deal with any of it.

He falls asleep still worrying about it, but Clifford’s curly, slightly dirty hair keeps tickling his nose and, somehow, it makes it a little easier to sleep through the night.

-

Lottie picks him up bright and early the next morning, and they spend a few hours getting Louis thoroughly roped back into society. It’s jarring, he thinks, how out of touch he is after only a little more than a month away from the city. It’s like he has no idea how to use the brand new phone in his hands, like Lottie is leading him across a planet he’s never been to. He has a stiff new wallet full of shiny new cards and crisp twenty pound notes and he hasn’t a clue what any of it is, why any of it should matter to him.

The cruise company’s insurance is giving him a pretty penny in compensation for the whole ordeal, which is nice, and Louis’s own insurance is coming through quite nicely for all of the belongings he lost to the sea. He’s got two fat checks coming in the mail within the week, and it almost helps, almost makes him feel like he didn’t survive the shipwreck just to come back and drown in London. 

He still feels like he’s drowning, though, is the thing. It’s still summer, but August is nearing its end, and there’s no way Louis can go back to work come September, no way he can greet his students and pretend that he isn’t still struggling. He’s sure everyone will understand that he’s not ready to come back yet; they’ve already filled his spot, anyway, since they thought he was dead until a few days ago.

He really wants to be able to go back to work, wants to be able to stand in front of his classroom and tell his story on the first day of school and show everyone he’s fine, that what didn’t kill him made him stronger, but he’s not sure any of that is true. He’s a drama teacher, and he’s a damn good one, but even he’s not a good enough actor to pretend like he hasn’t just been through hell.

Lottie is more than happy to take him clothes shopping when they leave the bank, and Louis ends up with far more than he needs, but he’s not complaining. He thinks he’ll clear out the few things that are left in his closet from before the cruise and start anew with a new wardrobe, like that’s going to make any of this easier.

He hasn’t had a breakdown yet since he’s been home, but he’s suspiciously numb, like it’s going to come any day now and knock him flat on his arse. He’s shaky at best, unsteady and unsure, but at any moment the weight of this entire situation is going to come crashing down on him, and he’s not sure how he’s going to handle it.

He brings all of his new things up to his flat when they’re done shopping, and Lottie helps him sort through his closet and put everything away. He ends up with a good sized pile of clothes to donate to charity, but he keeps a few special things, like the t-shirt Charles got him in California a few years ago, and the suit Charles paid for the first time he demanded Louis take him on a properly fancy date. He tries to stay as numb as possible, otherwise, throwing out all of the things he knows he’ll never wear again, that will only sit in the closet for the rest of his life and keep the heavy ball of grief sitting over Louis’s chest.

Lottie takes all of his old clothes to drop them off at the charity shop when she leaves so that Louis doesn’t have a chance to change his mind, and then Louis spends the rest of the day puttering around the flat, tidying things up and taking Clifford for a walk. Harry’s coming with pizza at six, which means Louis has the entire afternoon to sit around and get anxious about seeing him again.

He feels like it’s been ages, like he hasn’t seen Harry in years. He hasn’t forgotten a single thing about him, though, can still remember exactly the way his face looks, the way his voice sounds, the way his hands feel when he holds Louis’s hips and kisses him to sleep. It makes Louis’s hands shake, a little, the memory of all of it, the clarity of it, the wondering if Harry’s going to kiss him again tonight, if anything’s changed in either of them since they last saw each other.

Harry buzzes at three minutes to six, three minutes before Louis’s prepared to see him. Louis takes approximately thirty seconds to cross the living room to the door and buzz him in, wringing his hands nervously until there’s a quiet knock at the door. Louis takes exactly one deep breath and then grabs the door handle, finding Harry standing in his hallway, holding a box from Pizza Express, smiling like nothing is wrong.

As it turns out, nothing really is wrong. Louis smiles back and lets him in, leading him to the kitchen so he can put the pizza down, Clifford following them quickly to investigate Harry.

“How have you been?” Harry asks, not hesitating at all before he pulls Louis in for a hug. Harry’s a lot better at this than Louis is, it seems, or at least he’s doing a great job pretending.

“Alright,” Louis says, holding on for just a second too long. “You?”

“Yeah, not too bad,” Harry says, scratching at the back of his neck when they finally break away. “It’s weird. Being back, I mean.”

“Really weird,” Louis agrees. He hates how stilted the conversation seems, when just a few days ago Louis thought he might never get to talk to anyone but Harry for the rest of his life. “I’ll admit, I kinda never thought we’d be here.”

“Me either,” Harry says. “I never wanted to admit it, but I really didn’t have any hope at all. Those last few days, when you were losing your mind, I really had no hope that we were ever going to go home. I just kept saying it because I thought there was a sliver of hope left in you, and I guess I thought maybe it would help me, too. It didn’t, but,” he shrugs, smiling a little. “I mean, we got home.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, watching Harry for a long moment. It feels so weird to see him here, in Louis’s home, looking so awkward and out of place. “Beer?” he asks, to break the tension, turning around to dig through the fridge.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry says, sitting down at the table. “Your dog likes me,” he chuckles, and Louis turns back to find Clifford resting his head in Harry’s lap, begging silently to be pet.

“He likes anyone who’ll pay attention to him,” Louis says, popping the lids off of two beer bottles and bringing them to the table. “He’ll go away if you ignore him.”

“No, he’s sweet,” Harry says, scratching at Clifford’s head. Clifford closes his eyes and nudges his head into Harry’s hand every time he stops petting, and Louis feels a bit weird about how jealous he feels watching them.

“Cliff, go lie down,” Louis says, waving Clifford out of the kitchen. Clifford looks offended, huffing in Louis’s direction before meandering out of the kitchen. “He’s sweet until he steals an entire meal from in front of your face. He especially loves pizza, but it gives him terrible diarrhea,” he says.

“Charming,” Harry giggles, accepting one of the bottles of beer as Louis sits down across from him. “This is a really nice flat, by the way. So much bigger than mine,” he says, pulling open the pizza box and taking a slice before passing it across the table to Louis.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Louis says, taking a piece for himself. “It was the only one Charles and I could afford straight out of Uni, but it still wasn’t cheap. We made it work, though, and it’s all good now. Charles usually pays the rent and then I cover food and everything,” he says. “Charles has this boujee job with benefits and everything and he gets payed, like, way more than he used to when he first started, but this was the first place either of us have ever lived that isn’t our parents’ houses, so we’re kinda attached to this flat.”

He realizes after a long stretch of silence that he’s speaking in the present tense, like it still works like that, like Charles is still here. He takes bite of his pizza and swallows hard, staring down at the table.

Harry doesn’t seem to know what to say, and neither does Louis, both of them stuffing their mouths with food and hoping the other one will say something first. Louis wants to fucking die, he feels so awkward, taking a long sip of beer.

“So, um,” Harry says finally, glancing up at him. “How long have you had Clifford?”

“Like, two years?” Louis says, grateful for the topic change. “Yeah, got him when he was a puppy. Now he’s just a big, lazy oaf,” he chuckles.

“I’ve never had dogs, only cats,” Harry says. “I love cats, but dogs seem way more fun.”

“Dogs are exactly like people, that’s why I like them so much,” Louis says. “Hard to get to know a cat, I think.”

“Depends on the cat,” Harry says. “But, yeah, dogs tend to be a bit friendlier.”

It’s hardly the most interesting conversation Louis’s ever had, but it finally feels like they’re settling in, warming back up to each other, like the air isn’t so tense and it doesn’t feel so weird to just sit and talk. They polish off the entire pizza over the course of about half an hour, just making small talk and getting reacquainted with each other.

It isn’t until Harry gets up to get them both another beer from the fridge that the meltdown Louis’s been anticipating for days finally hits him. Harry opens the fridge door and the light catches on a photograph stuck up with a magnet, and Louis just barely sees it over the curve of Harry’s shoulder, but it’s enough to start everything crumbling down.

The picture is from his and Charles’s holiday to Miami last summer. Louis’s in a vest and a backwards snapback, squinting in the sunlight, his chin hooked over Charles’s shoulder while Charles grins for the camera he’s holding in his hand. Seeing that photo sends all the memories associated with it rushing back into Louis’s head, and seeing Harry in his kitchen while it hits him that Charles is really gone is only making it worse.

He chokes a little, catching Harry’s attention from where he’s popping the caps off the bottles over the sink. Harry glances back at him, frowning, and then follows his eyes to the picture on the fridge.

 

“Oh,” he says after a moment. His voice is so, so quiet, but it still makes Louis jump. “Louis.”

Louis makes a weird, panicked little sound that he’s never heard himself make, and Harry rushes over to the table, abandoning the bottles in the sink. Louis can’t really breathe, eyes stuck on the photo, hardly blinking.

“Hey,” Harry says, pulling up a chair next to him and trying to get Louis’s attention. “Louis, hey. Help me help you, Lou, what are you thinking?”

Louis chokes again, sucking in as much air as his lungs will allow and holding it as the room spins a little. “I’m thinking,” he starts, but his voice his shaking too much, so he has to stop and breathe again before he speaks. “I’m thinking that two months ago I bought a ring and two tickets to a cruise to propose to my boyfriend of six years and now I’m sitting here in my kitchen that used to be our kitchen with a guy that isn’t him because he’s dead and I’m not,” he says, not daring to look at Harry’s face.

Harry appears to be stunned silent for a long few seconds, not even breathing, at least as far as Louis can hear. He feels like he’s hyper aware of everything, like every move Harry makes is magnified tenfold.

Louis wheezes a little and then closes his eyes, flinching when Harry touches his arm, like he can hold onto him to stop him from falling into his own thought spiral. “I think you should go,” Louis says, talking to the inside of his own eyelids.

“Lou,” Harry croaks, but the sound of his nickname in Harry’s voice makes Louis physically recoil, shrugging Harry’s hand off his arm.

“No,” he says, shaking his head so quickly he makes himself dizzy. “No, don’t say anything. You should go, because I want you to kiss me right now, and I don’t want to want that, so I think you need to leave, and I need more time.”

“We don’t have to do that,” Harry says, but he follows when Louis gets up and walks to the door. “You don’t have to, like, date me, or kiss me, this doesn’t have to be like that at all. I just want to be part of your life, Louis,” he says, pleading a little. “We can start all over.”

“The problem is that I think I want that,” Louis says, staring at his feet. “I want to kiss you, and date you, and whatever the hell else, but I’m not supposed to want that yet. I’m not supposed to want that at all,” he scoffs. “I’m supposed to want Charles back.”

Harry pauses, probably waiting to see if Louis will look up at him, but he doesn’t. “Do you?” he asks finally, the question on both of their minds.

“I don’t know,” Louis bites out, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m so fucking confused, and I think I just need to process all of this, I just need time,” he says.

“Okay, alright, that makes sense,” Harry says, but he touches Louis’s arm again, rubbing at his shoulder. “You have my email, yeah? If you want to talk, or, whatever,” he says, as Louis opens the door for him. 

“Don’t wait for me, Harry,” Louis says, his voice so quiet Harry stops breathing to listen. “If you find someone else, don’t feel like you should wait for me.”

Harry’s quiet for a long minute, until Louis thinks he just isn’t going to say anything at all, but then he does something worse. “I’m going to tell you okay,” he says, mumbling, “but I already know I’m never going to find anyone meant for me the way you are.”

Louis recoils again, and Harry pulls away as if to give him the space he’s asking for. 

“Sorry,” Harry breathes, backing out the door. “I’ll go. Let me know if you need me, okay? Whenever.”

Louis just nods, still staring down at his feet. Harry turns slowly and walks down the corridor, and Louis gives himself three seconds before he leans his full weight against the door and sobs.

He pulls himself together enough to walk to the bedroom, grabbing one of Charles’s jumpers out of his closet and curling up on the bed with it, pressing his face into the material and crying himself out. Clifford jumps up onto the bed with him after a little while, licking his cheek and neck and any parts of Louis’s skin he can reach, like he understands that Louis’s entire body feels like one big open wound right now, but no amount of licking can help. 

It isn’t until he’s nearly cried himself to sleep, Clifford finally resigning to curl up behind his legs, that Louis realizes the smell of Charles’s jumper isn’t soothing him at all. It’s familiar, the scent, but it’s not comforting, not at all. It doesn’t make Louis feel safe, doesn’t make him feel better.

He realizes, very slowly and with a sinking heart, that the only scent that will comfort him right now is Harry, that deep, musky, sweaty scent that’s been comforting Louis for a month and a half, for the worst month and a half of his life. 

He falls asleep clutching the jumper, because he feels like he should, because he feels like he’s supposed to. He just wants to go back to normal, or what he thought was normal, anyway, when he was just doing the things he was supposed to do because he was supposed to do them, and it didn’t feel wrong like it does right now, like what he’s _supposed_ to do isn’t the same thing as what he _wants_ to do. He’s never wanted anything this strongly before, the way he wants Harry right now, and it’s terrifying.

He needs to figure this out, all of it, but right now he needs to sleep, so that’s what he does, holding Charles’s jumper to his chest and wishing that he could miss the person he’s actually supposed to miss.

-

Once the breakdown has started, it is very, very hard to get over it. Louis spends most of his time inside the flat, only leaving to take Clifford on walks. He gets his groceries delivered because he can’t even bear the thought of getting dressed long enough to go to the shop, and the brief conversation he’s forced to have with the delivery person is the most social interaction he gets all week. His friends try to invite him out, and sometimes he goes just so that they’ll stop worrying, but most days he can’t be bothered to get out of bed.

He’s stupidly, deliriously sad, but the worst part is, he can’t even really tell why. He feels like he’s sad for all the wrong reasons, which only makes him feel worse, because he’s a terrible, terrible person.

He thinks about Charles all the time, always expects him to be in the kitchen when Louis wakes up, to walk through the door at the end of the day when Louis is curled up on the sofa watching a film and eating ice cream out of the carton. He doesn’t ever feel like he really misses him, though, like he’s wishing he was here. The only thing he finds himself wishing for is some company, and only in the form of a long, lean body, curly, unruly hair, sparkling green eyes.

Sometimes he thinks he’s done, thinks he’s ready to move on and admit he wants to be with Harry, but then he thinks about Charles, thinks about how he died loving Louis, and how he deserves so much more mourning than Louis’s given him. That’s the only thing tripping him up, at this point; Charles doesn’t deserve to be forgotten so soon, deserves to be missed for more than a couple of months, at least, and Louis doesn’t know how to keep trying to feel grief that just won’t come.

It’s not like he didn’t love Charles. He loved his company, liked spending time with him, living with him and kissing him and being with him. In retrospect, they really weren’t soulmate material, but Louis did genuinely love him, and he doesn’t know why he’s having such a hard time missing him.

Harry texts him every few days just to chat, so that Louis won’t forget about him, and it kind of helps, in a way. Talking to Harry makes him feel a little more normal, even if it’s just a few messages back and forth, because it makes Louis feel a little less alone, even if Harry’s not really the person he’s supposed to be wanting. 

They exchanged phone numbers over email once Harry got a new phone, so they’ve finally been upgraded to the twenty first century, it feels like. Louis never initiates the conversations because it feels wrong, like something he’s not allowed to do, but he always feels flushed with relief when his phone lights up with a new message from Harry. Harry’s the only person he really talks to regularly, but even that starts to get a little too much after a while, because Louis just feels so guilty about the way his brain seems to be working currently.

Time slips by so quickly, too quickly, weeks and then months and Louis falls out of touch with almost everyone, including Harry, until all he has is Clifford and the inside of his own head. Harry still texts him every now and again, just to check up on him, ask him how he’s been. Louis answers about 70% of the time, when he can be bothered, and Harry’s texts come slower and slower every time Louis forgets to respond. It happens with everyone else, too, Stan and Liam and Lottie and everyone, but the only one that really stings enough to make him feel anything is Harry.

He loses track of everything. It gets cold, snows a few times, and he goes home for his birthday and Christmas and puts on a brave face but he’s still numb, still hollow and confused and _sad_ by the time he gets back to his flat. It snows again after Christmas, and then it starts to warm up, and Louis watches the seasons change outside his window and doesn’t do anything differently except wear a lighter jacket when he takes Clifford on his morning walks.

Summer comes around again, and suddenly it’s been six months since the last time he talked to Harry, and then it’s been a year since the cruise. None of it feels real, but then again, nothing has felt real since the second that bloody ship got struck by lightning.

Charles’s family is having a memorial service at the cemetery on the one year anniversary of the shipwreck, and it’ll be the first time Louis did something social since about May, when Stan and Liam and Calvin dragged him out for a lad’s night, the last time before they gave up on trying to get him drunk enough to forget how messed up he is. They’ll all be there, at the memorial service, and Louis is kind of dreading talking to them, or talking to anyone, but he supposes he has to.

The last time Louis saw anyone related to Charles was at the funeral they had a few weeks after Louis came home, when they finally got some closure about what happened to Charles. He’s got a grave in a cemetery near Bath, where he grew up, and Louis hasn’t been there since the day they buried an empty casket and said goodbye to him even though he was already long, long gone. Louis has low hopes that this service is going to help him at all, but maybe by some miracle it’ll ease the ache that’s made a permanent home in his chest these days.

He drives down to Bath in Charles’s car that he never ended up selling, that just sits out on the curb and collects snow in the winter and pollen in the spring. It feels weird to use the car, so he never does, but it feels fitting to use it today, to be forced to think of Charles the three hours it takes to get to his hometown, where he’ll be forced to remember him for a little while, to mingle with all of the people that genuinely miss him and mourned him properly, that aren’t just pissing their lives away waiting to feel normal again.

There’s a short service in Charles’s family’s church, and then they trek outside to the cemetery like the saddest, most ridiculous little parade to pay their respects to the empty ground that’s supposed to make them feel like Charles is there with them. Louis spends most of the afternoon accepting condolences he doesn’t deserve, hugging people that probably wouldn’t come near him if they knew how he was really feeling.

He does his best to avoid Charles’s parents, because out of everyone, they’re the hardest to talk to. He knows that Charles’s mum and dad adored him while they were dating, and they probably still do now, but Louis has hardly talked to them in a year and he has no idea what to say to them, anyway. Nonetheless, Charles’s mum finds him after a few hours and pulls him aside, to another row of graves, and rubs his shoulder.

“How have you been?” she asks him, smiling sadly, like she understands how Louis’s feeling at all.

“Better,” Louis lies. “Everything is still just… weird,” he says.

“Are you recovering?” Charles’s mum asks, sounding hopeful. “Getting back into the swing of things?”

“Yes and no,” Louis shrugs, being vague on purpose, avoiding looking directly at her face.

“Us too,” Charles’s mum nods, like she’s dealing with anything similar to what Louis’s dealing with. At least she’s probably missing Charles properly, not forcing herself to miss him like Louis is doing, because she’s not a terrible person and Louis is. “I was hoping to get a chance to chat with you today. I think about you often,” she says.

“Same,” Louis lies again, forcing a little smile. 

“Have you been dating at all?” she asks. She doesn’t sound uncomfortable with the idea, just curious, but it’s jarring to hear her ask it, anyway.

“No,” Louis says, too quickly, looking down and shaking his head. “Actually, no. I can’t, like, bring myself to move on, I guess,” he says, shrugging one shoulder and staring intently at his feet. It’s the first thing he’s said today that doesn’t feel like a lie.

“Oh, love,” Charles’s mum sighs, rubbing his shoulder again. “I can’t imagine what this is like for you.”

Yeah, Louis thinks bitterly, he’s sure she has no idea. “Tough,” Louis chuckles humorlessly, finally glancing up at her.

“If it’s any condolence,” Charles’s mum says, forcing him to keep the eye contact now that she’s got it, “he was absolutely mad about you. He loved you to pieces, and I’m sure he still does, wherever he is. I know that he’s looking down at you right now, and all the time, and all he wants is for you to be happy. That’s all he ever wanted, you know. He wants you to be happy, Louis, whatever that takes. If that means finding someone else to love, or selling the flat or, hell, finding God, then that’s what he wants for you. You need to move on, you need to find happiness, get back to your life,” she says. “Do it for Charles, if that’s what it takes.”

Louis doesn’t know when the tears started falling, but he’s wiping quickly at his cheeks by the time Charles’s mum is done talking. She’s teary, too, but she’s not crying, even though Louis thinks she may have just changed his life.

“Thank you,” he breathes, watching her for a moment before hugging her quickly, breathing deep. “That really, actually helps. A lot,” he says.

“Good,” Charles’s mum grins, squeezing him one last time. “It’s good to see you, Louis, really. You have my number if you ever need anything,” she says, cupping his cheek for just a second before she turns away, leaving Louis to collect himself.

He dries his face with the back of his hand, taking a few more deep breaths and feeling, for the first time in ages, like he’s actually getting oxygen to his brain. It’s like something’s shifted in his chest, and he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning anymore, for the first time in a year, maybe even longer. He thinks that hearing those words, especially coming from Charles’s mum, changed the way the feelings are sitting in his brain, he finally, finally feels like it’s time to move on.

He spends the rest of the afternoon milling about in the cemetery, chatting with people from Charles’s life and getting more than his fair share of hugs, but he doesn’t feel so numb anymore, doesn’t feel quite as hollow. It’s remarkable, how one conversation has him finally feeling like he’s ready to get back to his life, and he almost wishes he had talked to Charles’s mum sooner.

The thing is, though, he doesn’t know that it would have helped before now. He definitely needed to hear everything she had to say, but he’s not sure he was ready to hear it before today. He thinks that being here, on the year anniversary of the day he lost Charles and, consequently, everything simple and comfortable about his life, he’s finally ready to admit that he can find something better, that he deserves something better, that the universe has done everything in its power to give him the opportunity to finally be really, properly happy.

It feels like fate when the afternoon starts to end, the sun dipping in the sky just over the treeline, when Louis catches a pair of eyes from across the cemetery. He’s still standing near Charles’s grave, but there’s a figure standing by the entrance to the cemetery in dark jeans and a blazer, looking like the rest of Louis’s life waiting to be found.

Louis starts walking toward him without even realizing it, and then suddenly he’s right there, right in front of him, for the first time in ages. Louis has no idea how Harry even knew about this, how he got here, why he’s here, but Louis is ready, god, he’s ready for this.

“Hi,” Harry says, fidgeting anxiously, eyes flickering between his feet and Louis’s face. “Saw in the paper that there was a memorial today. I hope it’s okay that I’m here,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Louis says, smiling a little. “Really okay. I’m glad you’re here.”

Harry smiles back, his tense shoulders relaxing. “Good,” he says softly. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, finally forcing himself to look away from Harry’s face, glancing over his shoulder at the sun setting over the cemetery, only a few people still lingering by Charles’s grave. “Doesn’t seem possible, you know? Sometimes it feels like a lifetime has gone by since we were on that ship, but sometimes I wake up expecting to find myself back on the island,” he says.

“I know what you mean,” Harry sighs, shaking his head. “I still have nightmares, to be honest. I still get anxious every time I hear thunder,” he admits.

Louis watches him for a moment, heart aching at the thought of it all. “This might be weird,” he says, “but I still think of you every time I hear thunder. There was a storm a few weeks ago and all I could think of was you,” he says.

“Yeah?” Harry says, lips curling up a little at the corners.

“Yeah,” Louis chuckles quietly. “A lot of things make me think of you, really.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching Louis’s face. “You stopped answering my texts,” he says finally, but his voice is different from before, quieter, more serious.

Louis frowns, shaking his head. “No I didn’t,” he says. He thinks he would’ve remembered making the conscious decision to stop answering Harry’s messages, and he knows he never did.

Harry makes a little sound, a bit like an uncomfortable laugh, and Louis pulls out his phone. He opens up his text thread with Harry, his heart sinking when he realizes that Harry’s last three messages all went unanswered, each of them a few weeks apart.

“Shit,” he hisses, blushing. “I’m so sorry, I’m the worst. I swear I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose,” he says, looking up at Harry again.

“It’s alright,” Harry says, looking a little more at ease now that he knows it wasn’t intentional.

“I’ve been in rough shape, I’m not going to lie,” Louis says, pushing his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve been having a terrible time.”

“Completely understandable,” Harry says. “I wish you’d reached out to me, though. I could’ve helped.”

“You couldn’t have,” Louis says, and Harry looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Maybe they both know what Louis means. “How have you been?” Louis asks, because he wants to know, needs to know. 

“Alright,” Harry says, nodding a little as he glances over Louis’s shoulder. “Definitely doing better, moving on, and all that. I got a new job, so that’s been good, and it feels like everything is getting a little easier,” he says.

Louis nods, looking down at his feet. It hits him then that he doesn’t even know what Harry does for a career, or what his old job was, or, really, anything about him. He simultaneously feels like he knows Harry better than he’s ever known anyone, knows what he tastes like, what he smells like, what it feels like to hold him when he cries, but he also doesn’t know Harry at all, has no idea what he’s into, what he likes, what kind of music he listens to or what kind of films he likes to watch. He wants it, wants all of it, wants to know everything there is to know about Harry, and for the first time, that’s something he thinks he’s allowed to want.

“Congrats,” Louis smiles, finally looking back up at him. “What’s the job?”

“Well, I used to work in retail, you know, just on the floor of a couple different department stores over the years. I’ve finally been able to move up into the fashion industry though, like, for real, and now I’m working in a real office with real executives,” he grins. “I’m just the new guy right now, you know, getting coffee and making copies, but hopefully soon I’ll be promoted to assistant buyer, and then from there I can start working my way up in the company,” he says proudly.

“Wow,” Louis says, chuckling a little. “That’s impressive. Very Rachel from _Friends_ ,” he jokes.

“That’s the dream,” Harry laughs, smiling down at his feet as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. Louis watches him, his heart fluttering in the best way, and suddenly all he wants to do is touch him, kiss him, everything he’s been telling himself not to want for a year.

“So what have you been up to?” Harry asks, looking back up at Louis. 

“Oh,” Louis says, smiling fading a little. “Uh, nothing at all, really.”

“Did you end up going back to work at all?” Harry says. Louis wants to go back to thirty seconds ago, before he started feeling like the biggest loser on Earth.

“Um, no,” he mutters, looking down. “Been living off the insurance checks, actually.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and he’s trying to make it seem like he doesn’t think that’s very sad, but they both know it is. “Well, that’s alright,” he says weakly.

Louis wants to sink into the ground and disappear, his face heating up. He’s such a fucking loser, honestly, and they both know it, and it’s mortifying. Harry’s totally fine, is excelling in his career, making his dreams come true, recovering like nothing ever happened while Louis is still floundering, pun not intended.

“I was thinking of finding a new job, too,” he lies, pulling the words out of his ass. “Maybe it’d be good to get away from teaching. I’ve always been into writing, like, songwriting and theater, and stuff, so maybe I could start pursuing that,” he shrugs.

Harry gets this soft, fond look in his eye, and Louis thinks he’s successfully distracted him from how sad his life is. “You were a teacher?” Harry asks, grinning when Louis nods.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Taught drama.”

“I never knew that,” Harry says, looking a little unsettled about it. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”

“I never knew you were into fashion, so I mean, it’s fine,” Louis chuckles, eyes downcast.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “There’s a lot we never talked about.”

He’s serious, suddenly, and Louis feels the air shift around them, and everything becomes a lot more loaded.

“A lot,” Louis repeats, staring at their feet for a long moment before forcing himself to look up at Harry’s face.

“Feel free to tell me to fuck off if this is inappropriate,” Harry says, fidgeting a little, “but do you want to go get a drink after this? Catch up a little?”

“Yeah, actually,” Louis says, nodding quickly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They leave together once the sun has set and it starts getting dark, and the last of Charles’s family starts to filter out, too. Harry took the train all the way here, so Louis offers to drive him back, since they’re going to be spending the evening together, anyway.

The car ride is quiet, but not uncomfortable. The radio is on to keep the silence easy, but Louis thinks that they’d be fine even without it. He doesn’t feel like he needs to talk to Harry all the time when they’re together; sometimes they can just be, and that’s a good thing, something Louis’s not experienced with very many people in his life.

Louis likes to be the center of attention. He likes to have people’s eyes on him all the time, likes the sound of his own voice, in the least vain way possible. He loves making people laugh, keeping them entertained, filling up a room with his personality. Something about Harry puts him at ease, makes him feel like he doesn’t have to be loud and outrageous to be the center of attention. He feels like he has Harry’s attention, anyway, even when he’s not doing anything at all.

They stop at some pub just outside of the city that Harry likes, because it’s calm and quiet enough to have a real conversation. They get a booth in a quiet corner and order a couple of beers, and it might be the first time in months that Louis’s genuinely comfortable.

“So,” Louis says, taking a sip of his beer and smiling at Harry, “tell me about your life before the ship. That’s the stuff we never talked about.”

“Well,” Harry says, playing the edge of the label on his bottle. “I grew up in Cheshire, went to uni in Manchester, moved down to London first chance I got, because it’s a fashion capital, and all that. I’ve worked in about every big shop on Oxford Street, Topshop, Zara, H&M, John Lewis, you name it, I’ve worked the floor,” he chuckles. “Dunno if you’ve ever worked retail, but it’s miserable. I hated it. It took up all my time, and I wasn’t even payed very well, but somehow I had it in my head that I needed to start there to get into fashion. I couldn’t bear going back to it when I got home, though, so I started sending out applications for better positions, and now I’m a secretary for a low level exec at Topman, but it’s something,” he shrugs. 

“That’s amazing,” Louis says, resisting the urge to take another few gulps of beer. He wishes he could be like Harry, could’ve used this entire thing as an opportunity to turn his life around. 

“What about you?” Harry asks. “You were a drama teacher?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, looking down to talk to his bottle. “It’s not what I ever thought I’d be doing, certainly not where I wanted to end up, but it’s fun. It’s nice to be able to build bonds with the students, you know? Until they graduate and leave you and then you have to form new relationships with new kids,” he chuckles. “But, no, I liked it. It was just too soon to go back to it, you know, when we finally got home, so I took the year off.”

“Are you going back this fall?” Harry asks, looking excited. “That’ll be so nice!”

“Yeah, um,” Louis shrugs, staring at his hands. “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Harry says, backpedalling remarkably fast. “Well, it’s alright if you don’t, too. You know, if you need more time. I don’t think anyone would blame you,” he says.

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs again. “I guess I’ve kind of realized how short and fragile life is, you know? Like, what’s the point of doing anything if you don’t love it?” he says, finally looking up at Harry. He holds his breath, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice.

“Maybe you should find something different,” Harry says. “You said you were into writing, maybe you should pursue that? No better time than now,” he says.

“Maybe,” Louis hums. “I guess I’m just scared I won’t be good enough at it. Teaching is safe, you know? And I know how to do it,” he says.

“When’s the last time you had any fun being safe?” Harry asks, taking a sip of his beer like he hasn’t just shaken Louis to the core.

They talk for a few hours, getting to know each other outside of the context of the island, but Harry’s comment sticks in Louis’s brain for the rest of the evening. _When’s the last time you had any fun being safe?_ He’s got a point, and Louis knows it, can’t forget it. He can’t remember the last time he had any fun; real, good fun, at least. He’s been safe all his life, he’s never taken any risks, never put himself outside of his comfort zone, and he thinks maybe it’s time he starts trying. He thinks that maybe today, of all days, should be the day he starts trying.

Conversation lulls naturally around the third beer, but they’ve been drinking slow, spending most of the time talking, laughing, getting comfortable with each other again. It’s like Louis’s catching up with an old friend, someone he’s known all his life, someone he’s meant to keep around. He lets himself get good and comfortable before he decides it’s time to push.

“So,” he says, trying to keep his voice light, casual, picking at his nails a little so he doesn’t have to look at Harry’s face. “Are you, erm… are you seeing anyone?”

Harry goes very still, hand tight around his beer bottle, like he’s being as careful as he can. “No,” he says, trying a little too hard to be nonchalant. It makes Louis smile just a little. “No, I’m not.”

“Cool,” Louis says, chewing on the inside of his lip. The air is tense, suddenly, but Louis feels a bit like laughing.

“Are you?” Harry asks quickly, looking up at him. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” Louis says, maintaining eye contact with his thumbnail but finally letting himself smile. “Haven’t even thought about it.”

“Me either,” Harry admits. He slumps a little, like he’s relieved, but now that Louis’s started pushing, he wants to keep going.

“Why’s that?” he asks, glancing up. Harry’s watching him carefully, but he looks away when Louis meets his eyes.

“Erm,” he says, shifting a little in his seat. “I know you told me not to wait for you, and I swear that’s not what it’s like,” he says, too loud, too fast. “I just, like- I can’t, like, fathom the idea of being with anyone except you?” he says, like it’s a question Louis’s supposed to answer.

Louis just hums quietly, chewing the inside of his lip and looking back down to play with his fingers again. He’s gone too far, his stomach twisting uncomfortably, but Harry’s voice echoes in his head again. _When’s the last time you had any fun being safe?_

“Sorry,” Harry says, rubbing at his face a little. “I’m sorry if that made things weird, and you’re uncomfortable, but I had to say it,” he says. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I just had to tell you,” he says.

“It doesn’t make things weird,” Louis says. It really, really doesn’t, he realizes. He’s fine, he’s completely fine, and he’s done forcing himself to stop wanting the things he wants.

“No?” Harry asks carefully, looking confused. Louis’s probably throwing him for a loop but, honestly, Louis’s throwing himself for a loop, too.

“No,” he says decisively. “And, you know what? If you had said it to me yesterday it would have made me uncomfortable, and nervous, and I would have felt rushed and pressured and I would have pulled away even more, and probably cut you out of my life altogether,” he says. His voice is unsettlingly calm to his own ears, and Harry’s watching him with wide eyes, terrified.

“And-” Harry chokes a little, looking everywhere but at Louis’s eyes. “And today?”

“Today,” Louis sighs, “I had a conversation with Charles’s mum that really opened my eyes. She told me that I need to start moving on, because it’s what Charles would have wanted. She said he loved me, and he only ever wanted to see me happy, and if moving on and falling in love with someone else is what it takes for me to be happy, then that’s what I should do,” he says. He pauses for dramatic effect, but Harry’s literally holding his breath, the poor thing, so Louis decides to stop messing around. “And I think she’s right,” he says.

Harry lets out a whoosh of breath and Louis smiles, but he’s not done yet, he’s not nearly done yet.

“I think that’s what I needed to hear, honestly, because I’ve spent a lot of time feeling miserable for all the wrong reasons, and I think the real problem was that I was never really in love with Charles.” It hangs in the air for a long moment once he’s finally said it out loud, but it feels right, feels real. “I think you were right, back on the ship. I was never fully in love with him, I was just comfortable with him, and willing to be comfortable for the rest of my life. I’ve never really known what it feels like to genuinely be loved, and to be in love, and I was ready to just settle for what I had. Which, don’t get me wrong, it was good, we had a good thing. It just, maybe, wasn’t as good as it could have been? And, like, it crushes me to think that if I’d just known that, we could have avoided the whole thing, you know? I wouldn’t have bought the ring, or the cruise tickets, and I wouldn’t have brought him on that fucking ship to propose to him, and he wouldn’t be dead right now.” He takes another pause, more to gather himself than for dramatic effect, but Harry seems to be hanging on his every word, ready to give him all the time he needs. “That’s something I’ve struggled with a lot over the past few months, and it still fucking hurts, mate. I don’t know if I’ll ever totally get over that,” he mutters, “but then it makes me think, you know, maybe I was on that boat for a reason. And maybe that reason was to meet you,” he says, looking up at Harry’s face.

Harry’s eyes are wet, and Louis doesn’t know how he isn’t more choked up than he is, but he needs to get the rest out before he loses his momentum.

“And it’s fucking sick, and twisted, that so many people had to lose their lives and I got to fall in love,” he scoffs, “but I really think I was meant to be there so I could fall in love with you. I think it’s taken me a little extra time and a little extra energy than the universe intended, maybe, but I think I’m finally ready to let fate have its way and fall in love with you,” he says. “I’m ready to be happy again, or maybe for the first time, I don’t really know yet, but I guess we have time to figure it out,” he shrugs.

Harry’s smiling so wide, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and Louis feels his own emotions starting to bubble over, as well. Louis hates crying in front of people, but he supposes Harry’s seen him cry enough, he can be the one exception to the rule. Hell, he’s the one exception to all of Louis’s rules.

Louis reaches for his hand and Harry clings on, gripping hard enough that the bones in Louis’s hand mash together a little bit.

“I think it’s important to think that all those people didn’t have to die so that we could meet,” Harry says, his voice slow, calculated but still wavering with emotion. “Us meeting just happened to be… a very fortunate simultaneous event,” he says, rubbing over the back of Louis’s hand with his thumb.

Louis nods, considering it for a moment. “You know what, I think you’re right,” he decides. “And that does really help,” he says, watching Harry’s face.

“That’s the only way I’m holding it all together, if I’m honest,” he chuckles, rubbing at his eye with his free hand and then looking back up at Louis. He looks tired, suddenly, but still so happy, so beautiful, Louis wants to look at him for the rest of his life. And that’s okay, he thinks. He can have that.

“God,” Louis breathes, huffing a laugh into the back of his hand. “We’re really the most unique love story in the world, aren’t we? Like Jack and Rose but gayer, and cheesier, and neither of us died,” he muses.

“As long as we’re a love story in the end,” Harry says, “I don’t care care how we started.”

Louis can’t help but laugh, pulling his hand out of Harry’s to scrub both of his palms over his face. “I can hear our future children now, ‘Daddy, how did you and Papa meet?’ ‘Well, son, about 3,000 people died all at once and then we almost died too, but we didn’t, and then a whole ass year and some really unnecessary emotional baggage later, we fell in love,’” he says. He’s mostly joking, but the light in Harry’s eyes warms his heart, makes him want it more than anything.

“You wanna have kids with me?” Harry asks, sounding like Louis’s just given him the best news of his life. Maybe he has.

“Oh, I want loads of kids,” Louis says. “You’d better be okay with that, because I’m not compromising.”

“I’m so okay with that,” Harry assures him. “Just as long as we never, _ever_ take them on a fucking cruise,” he says.

“I’ll be damned if I ever even look at a boat again,” Louis says, scoffing. “All of our children will have swimming lessons, and they will wear life vests within two miles of anything deeper than a puddle,” he says.

Harry laughs one of his honking, beautiful laughs, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Sounds good to me,” he giggles, eyes sparkling at Louis while he finishes off the last of his beer.

“Do you wanna come back to mine?” Louis asks, his playful smile fading into something a little more hopeful. Harry just grins, chewing on his lip while he nods.

They finish off their drinks and the basket of chips they ordered with round two, and then Louis leads the way back out to the car. They fall quiet again once they’re on the road, the radio filling up the silence, but Louis’s head is buzzing loudly with everything he wants right now.

He parks on the curb, where the car will stay until Louis needs it again to get somewhere the underground can’t get him, and then they head up to the flat in happy, comfortable silence. They’re still quiet when they walk in, and Louis’s just glad he had the foresight to not leave an absolute mess before he left for the memorial this morning.

He sheds his jacket and shoes while Harry walks around the living room, eyes sweeping over the room. Louis finally turns around to face him and Harry quirks an eyebrow, looking unimpressed.

“This place looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here, nearly a year ago,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Louis mutters, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to look at Harry’s disapproving face. He busies himself with going to let Clifford out of the bedroom where he’s been cooped up all day, keeping his back to Harry for as long as he possibly can. “I just can’t bring myself to get rid of anything, or move it. I probably should, though, hm?” he winces, glancing around at all of the photos still hanging all over the flat, he and Charles and all of their friends doing all the things that used to make Louis feel like his life was more glamorous and perfect than it ever was.

“Yeah,” Harry says, scrunching up his nose a little. He’s so fucking cute, even criticizing Louis’s life choices. “We’ll work on that,” he chuckles.

Louis smiles, shuffling back across the room to stand in front of Harry. Harry breathes in slowly and holds it for half a second, and when he breathes out it makes Louis’s fringe puff a little.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, finally, the words Louis’s been aching to hear for as long as he can remember.

“God, I missed hearing you say that,” he mumbles, reaching up to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders.

Harry holds him by the hips and kisses him slowly, deeply, so good it makes Louis’s spine tingle and his toes curl. He feels like he could fly, like he might float away if not for Harry holding him so tight, keeping him tethered to everything that’s real and good and finally within his reach.

He tastes like chips and beer, two of Louis’s favorite things, mixed with Harry, which is definitely becoming Louis’s favorite flavor. He’s never enjoyed kissing a person as much as he enjoys kissing Harry, and this is all they’ve ever done, but it feels like it might be all Louis ever needs.

It hits him then that he’s never done anything but kiss Harry, has never touched him beyond that, and for all he’s thought about it and imagined it, he never dreamed it’d actually happen. He smooths his hands down Harry’s back and over his spine, inching down to his arse, silently asking to touch.

They’ve got a whole world to explore, now, and it’s thrilling, especially when Harry whines quietly into Louis’s mouth and pushes back into his hands. Louis’s never felt so giddy to be touching someone in his life, never derived so much pleasure out of someone else’s moans. 

He’s in love, he thinks, completely and irrevocably, and he never wants to give this up. He hardly even has it yet, but it’s already the most special feeling he’s ever felt, already the most wonderful way he could imagine spending the rest of his life.

They move to the couch after a bit, and Harry lies Louis down and spreads him out and kisses the very soul out of his body. He can keep it, Louis thinks, it’s his now, anyway. Louis’s making all these little noises he’s never even bloody heard himself make and he’s loving it, loving the person he is when he’s with Harry, loving the way his stomach twists up and his entire body explodes in the sweetest pins and needles when Harry presses down against him and kisses him a little harder.

As much as Louis doesn’t want to, he needs to breathe, but Harry doesn’t quit even when Louis turns his face to gulp down some fresh air. He keeps kissing the side of Louis’s mouth, his jaw, down his neck and back up, sucking just enough to make Louis’s skin erupt in goosebumps. He doesn’t leave any marks, but he breathes hot over the saliva left on Louis’s skin and it makes Louis whine, squirming under Harry’s body and tilting his chin up and back to give Harry the room to do it more.

He stares up at the ceiling while Harry kisses back down his neck, pulling at the collar of his shirt to get it open so he has more room to explore. Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s hips just for something to ground himself, head flopping to the side when Harry starts sucking particularly hard just above the dip of his collar bone.

“The first time I saw you,” Harry says, mumbling against Louis’s skin, making his entire body vibrate with it, “I was a little drunk, and you were in this delicious t-shirt, and your collar bones were out, and all I could think about was pouring a shot into this dip here,” he swipes his tongue over the dip in question, “and licking it out. Feels like my dreams are coming true,” he says, busying himself with biting into Louis’s skin gently as soon as he’s done talking.

Louis makes this high, whining sort of noise in the back of his throat, another sound his body’s been reserving just for Harry, apparently. He forces himself to keep his eyes open so he doesn’t get too lost in all the sensation and embarrass himself, looking around the room for something to focus his attention on other than the feeling of Harry’s gorgeous lips kissing over the bite mark he just made.

Clifford is eating in the kitchen, the sound of him crunching on dry kibble floating through to the living room. Louis tries to focus on that, collect himself, but then his eyes land on a certain frame on the console under the telly and everything else slips from his mind.

It’s a photo of him and Charles in Paris, one of the last trips they went on together before the cruise. They’re in front of the eiffel tour, Louis’s sunglasses are blocking most of his face, but the lighting is lovely, so Charles insisted they had it framed. They don’t even look like they’re in love, hardly even touching apart from Charles’s arm slung over Louis’s shoulder, but nothing about their body language looks like a couple madly in love. Louis stares at it for a long moment, Harry’s mouth still working down his chest as he pops the buttons on Louis’s shirt one by one, unaware that he’s completely lost Louis’s attention.

Louis could freak out again. He could push Harry off and start crying and feeling horrible for moving on. If this was happening any day before today, he probably would, and then he’d probably go jump off the balcony just to escape the guilt. He hears Charles’s mum’s voice, though, telling him that he’s doing the right thing, that he needs to move on eventually, that Charles only wants him to be happy. He pictures Charles, wherever he is now, cheering him on, happy that Louis’s finally happy, and Louis blinks away the slight trace of tears in his eyes before he gets a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pushes him back an inch.

Harry looks up quickly, already worried, like maybe he felt the change in Louis’s pulse and thinks Louis’s going to lose it, too. Louis just smiles at him, though, tugging him up and kissing his lips again.

“Bedroom?” he breathes, the syllables all jumbled up into Harry’s mouth, but Harry understands him anyway. He pulls back and sits up, grinning, climbing off of Louis and dragging him down the hall to the bedroom.

Louis kicks the door shut behind them so that Clifford doesn’t wander in and get an eyeful of something he never needs to see, but before the door has even swung all the way shut Harry already has him spread out on the bed, climbing up on top of him. Louis closes his eyes and doesn’t think, just lets himself feel, skin tingling with excitement as Harry quickly pops all the buttons of his shirt and pushes it open.

Harry spends ages kissing down Louis’s chest and stomach, sucking marks into his skin and nibbling on the softest bits of Louis’s body. Louis’s losing it slowly, squirming against Harry’s mouth, but never away from it, never away from Harry’s love.

He reaches under Harry’s body to get his own trousers open and Harry doesn’t help him a bit, giggles as Louis struggles and whines until finally he can push his trousers and pants down to his knees. Harry backs away a bit and gets a look at what he’s working with, sitting up just to push Louis’s trousers the rest of the way off his legs and then pulling his own shirt off over his head.

“I don’t mean to sound creepy,” Harry says, flinging his shirt to the floor and hovering over Louis’s body, their chests aligned, Harry’s hot breath mingling with Louis’s, “but you are every bit as beautiful as I imagined you would be.”

Louis whines, gripping at Harry’s hips and holding him down as he grinds up against him. “Then quit teasing and touch me, asshole.”

“I’d love to, asshole,” Harry giggles, kissing Louis’s mouth quickly before sitting up and unbuttoning his jeans. “What do you want me to do?”

“You could honestly just sit there and look at me all night and I’d probably come all over myself,” Louis says, eyes sweeping over Harry’s torso. Harry pauses, hands frozen on his flies, and cocks his head to watch Louis curiously. Louis whines pitifully and grabs at Harry’s wrist, shaking it as if to spur him back into action. “But please don’t.”

Harry laughs and finishes taking his trousers off, settling back down on top of Louis fully naked and beautiful, so beautiful Louis could cry.

“It’s been a while,” Harry says, shifting to sit right on top of Louis’s hip bones, his thighs framing Louis’s body perfectly, like they were made to fit together like this. “I haven’t even thought about sleeping with anyone else since I met you. You’re all I want, the only person I’ve ever wanted this badly,” he admits.

“Then,” Louis grunts, frustrated, pushing his hips up so his dick slides over Harry’s backside, “fucking touch me, _god_.” 

Harry rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling, leaning forward a bit and reaching behind himself to hold Louis’s dick. “I’m trying to have a nice moment here, but all you can think about is getting your dick touched, hm? Typical,” he sighs, even as he shifts his hips to slip Louis’s cock between his arse cheeks and rocks back against him.

Louis has a witty remark right on the tip of his tongue, but it slips away from him along with the rest of the world when Harry really gets going. Louis holds Harry’s hips hard enough to bruise but it does absolutely nothing to slow Harry down, rocking back and forth on Louis’s dick so fast and hard Louis sees stars just about instantly. He’s reduced to a useless, moaning lump, head tilted back and his mouth wide open as Harry leans forward without ruining his angle at all and starts mouthing at his throat.

“How’s that?” Harry hums, like he can’t tell he’s turning Louis’s entire brain to mush. “Feel good, Lou? I’ll ride you for real later, if you want, when you’re not gagging for it quite so much and I have a moment to do it right. But this’ll do for now, yeah? This’ll keep you happy until you’re ready to be a little more patient?”

Louis feels like a teenager, already right on the brink of coming, his entire body humming and twitching. “Fuck,” he breathes, getting his hands around Harry’s shoulders and holding on for dear life. “Stop, I- _don’t_ , don’t- oh-”

Harry laughs breathlessly and kisses Louis’s gasping mouth, grinding his hips down particularly well and making Louis’s entire body tense up. Louis whimpers and fucks up against him a few times, heat crawling so maddeningly slow up his spine until it bursts, and everything is stars and galaxies behind Louis’s eyes as he finally comes, tugging Harry down and biting helplessly against his neck.

Harry doesn’t stop until Louis makes him, the throbbing pleasure turning to pinching pain, and Louis reaches down to still his hips. Harry shift forward a little bit and gets to work rubbing himself off on Louis’s stomach, burying his face in Louis’s neck and releasing a shaky breath in his ear.

Louis runs his fingers up and down Harry’s spine while he recovers, until his brain is a little less scrambled and he’s able to fully enjoy the feeling of Harry taking himself apart on top of him. He dances his fingers back down Harry’s spine and over his arse, rubbing gently over his hole, and then between his legs to squeeze at his balls. Harry yelps and fucks down hard against Louis’s stomach, his body tensing and trembling, balls tightening in Louis’s grip as he comes, hips moving erratically and pinning Louis down to the bed. 

Harry doesn’t roll off when he’s done, just tucks himself up small on top of Louis and noses at the curve of his neck. Louis holds him, arms still a little bit trapped in his shirt he never got fully out of. He laughs at nothing, just overwhelmed with happiness at this feeling, Harry all curled up on top of him, naked and laughing too, soft and warm and the only thing keeping Louis tethered to the earth, the only thing making any of this worthwhile.

-

It’s been two and a half years since the ship went down, and Louis is on top of the world. He and Harry have been together for a year and a half now, and things are amazing, better than Louis thought they could be, better than anything has ever been. He never knew it was even possible to be this happy, but Harry just keeps making him happier every single day, and Louis doubts there will ever come a day when that stops being true.

A few weeks into their relationship, around fall of last year, Harry came over and spent the whole day helping Louis clean up the flat, packing all the photos of Charles and all the little mementos of their relationship into a box that Louis now keeps in the back of his closet. Harry was adamant that he didn’t want Louis to forget completely about Charles, nor did he want to completely erase him from Louis’s life. There are still a few photos of them here and there, but most of the photos have their other friends in them, as well. Harry just didn’t like feeling like he was dating someone else’s boyfriend, being reminded every time he looked around the flat that Louis wasn’t completely his yet, as long as he kept holding onto the past. 

They packed up all of Charles’s clothes and belongings and either donated them to charity or gave them back to Charles’s parents to do with as they pleased, and as soon as the flat started to feel like Charles didn’t live there anymore, everything got incredibly easier.

They slowly replace all the empty frames in the flat with photos of their own, all the adventures they’ve had and weekend trips they’ve taken, all the different cities and countries and landmarks they’ve fallen in love at. Louis feels like he falls in love with Harry all over again every single time he looks at him, and it’s obvious in the photos they’ve taken together, the way Louis’s eyes sparkle like they never have before.

The flat gradually becomes Harry’s, too, until they finally decide to stop playing around and move in together after about six months of Harry sleeping over six out of seven nights a week. Harry moves in just before the holidays, and they spend Louis’s birthday all wrapped up in each other in their cozy little flat, and then Christmas very much the same way. It’s early, probably way too early to be as sure about each other as they are, but they’ve already discussed it, already decided that this is a done deal, a forever thing, Harry is it for Louis, and Louis is it for him.

Now it’s been a year and a half since they got together, the best year and a half of Louis’s life. It’s fall again, which used to be depressing when Louis was still teaching, but now that he’s found a real passion, he’s starting to learn to love the way the trees change color, the way the air gets crisp and cool and Harry insists they spend their evenings cuddled up together on the sofa drinking tea and watching films.

Louis got a job working as a writer with a small production company in the city, and it’s absolutely not the path he ever pictured himself taking, but he’s loving it. He gets to be creative and work with a team and the pay isn’t terrible, and each of the projects they’ve churned out so far have been some of the proudest accomplishments of Louis’s life. Harry’s doing quite well, himself, working his way up the fashion industry, still working toward being promoted to assistant buyer for Topman but he’s closer than ever, and Louis’s sure he’ll get it before the end of the year.

It feels like everything’s coming up for the both of them. Louis went out a few weeks ago and bought another ring, but this time he’s sure of it, absolutely sure that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Harry. He has no idea how to ask the question, how to make it as special as Harry deserves, but he’s decided to leave it up to fate, just like the rest of their relationship, because spontaneity and random chance seem to be their thing.

It’s Sunday today, and they’re making breakfast together, even though it’s nearly noon and they’ve been awake for hours, just lying in bed and chatting. They take their weekends very seriously, because it’s the only time they have that they can be together uninterrupted for as long as they want before the week starts again. Friday night is always date night, though usually they prefer to stay in; Harry makes some fancy, delicious dinner and they spend the rest of the evening in bed with a bottle of wine and no clothes, and they fall asleep tipsy and giggly and pleasantly tired. Saturdays are for chores, they clean and do the grocery shopping together like an old married couple, and then to redeem their youth, they typically spend the night out, sometimes with friends, sometimes not, partying into the early hours of the morning. That usually makes for soft, lazy Sunday mornings that fade into lazy Sunday afternoons and evenings, the perfect way to recharge before another hectic week. 

Harry’s singing some made up tune about waffles and eggs and Louis’s setting the table, throwing in a line every now and again when Harry runs out of material to sing about. Louis can’t stop giggling, feeling like a giddy school child, and Harry knows it, keeps singing his ridiculous song just to keep Louis laughing. He’s so sweet it makes Louis’s chest ache, and he knows Harry can see it written all over his face when he finally turns away from the stove and heads for the table with a stack of waffles on a plate.

“Waffles,” Harry sings, throwing in a ridiculous riff that would put Beyonce to shame, “with butter and syrup, and chocolate chunks because Louis wants cavities.”

“Hey!” Louis laughs, rolling his eyes. “You’ve got a lovely singing voice, but your songs are mean.”

Harry snorts, setting the plate of waffles down in the center of the table and shuffling over to his chair, slippers scuffling against the floor. He’s only in pants and a long sleeve t-shirt, looking like the definition of cuddly, and Louis thinks he might drag him back to bed after breakfast. Louis’s just wearing pajama bottoms and socks, and he keeps catching Harry sneaking glances at his bare chest, so he thinks he won’t have a very hard time getting Harry back into bed.

“Bon appetit, mon cheri,” Harry says, in a perfect French accent, like an absolute asshole. Louis loves him so much, he can’t fucking stand it, grabbing the butter from the fridge and doing his best to control his fond.

“Marry me,” he says, once he reaches the table. It’s not what he meant to say, and they both know it; Harry’s frozen mid squat over his chair, and Louis’s still just standing there with a tub of butter in his hand, and everything goes very still.

This is absolutely not how he pictured the proposal going. He didn’t really have a plan, but this is certainly not even close to any of the options he considered, though he figures now that they’re here, now that he’s said it, they might as well just finish it.

“Fuck,” he says eloquently, rolling his eyes at himself. “Jesus, hold on. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back,” he sighs, putting the butter down and rushing to the bedroom.

He digs the ring out of his sock drawer where it’s been buried for a few weeks now, pushing the drawer shut with his hip and scurrying back to the kitchen. Harry is still just hovering over his chair, arse pushed out, frozen completely still.

“Alright?” Louis worries, the weight of what he’s doing finally catching up with him. He’s about to propose to Harry. What if Harry’s not ready? What if he doesn’t want it yet? Sure, they’ve discussed it, but what if Harry’s changed his mind?

“You told me not to move,” Harry says, glancing up at him. “So I’m not moving. My legs are cramping, though, so could you get on with it?”

Just like that, the tension is broken, and Louis snorts a laugh as he rounds the table and drops to his knee. Harry’s eyes are shining, despite how nonchalant he’s acting, and it makes Louis’s heart skip a beat. Yeah, he wants this, and he’s not doubting it for a second. This is everything, absolutely everything he could ever ask for.

“Harry Styles,” he starts, grinning up at him, biting the inside of his cheek when Harry grins back, “you have been the biggest plot twist, whirlwind, thunderstorm of my entire life, and I’ve never been so happy to have my world turned upside down. None of this has been easy, not for a moment, but loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, and I’d like to keep doing it for the rest of my life, if I can. So, please, if you would do me the honor of marrying me, and letting me spend the rest of my life loving you and making you happy and sharing everything with you, that’d be quite sick,” he says, fumbling with the ring box for a moment before turning it to face Harry, opening it slowly to show him the ring.

Harry pokes his little tongue out of his mouth and bites down on it, finally lowering himself all the way into his chair. He’s smiling so hard both of his dimples are out, his eyes scrunched nearly shut. He reaches for the ring, plucks it out of the box and pretends to look it over for a moment, but he’s not even looking at it, eyes stuck on Louis.

“Yes,” he says finally, holding the ring to his chest. “Of course, always.”

Louis laughs, breathless, beyond ecstatic, taking the ring from Harry’s hand and slipping it on his finger for him. Harry just stares down at it, beaming, looking like the rest of Louis’s life all wrapped up in one beautiful package.

He reaches up for Harry and, instead of standing up to kiss him like a human, drags him down to the floor. Harry goes willingly, legs tangling with Louis’s, and Louis kisses him so hard their teeth click together, but neither of them care, too busy laughing into each other’s mouths. Louis slots his fingers between Harry’s and holds on tight, feeling the ring press against the inside of his finger, cold against his skin. He can’t remember a time he’s ever been this happy, even when Harry pulls his hands away to cup Louis’s cheeks and kiss him a little deeper, occupying every single one of his senses.

If you’d told Louis two and a half years ago that someday he’d be marrying that man from the cruise ship that wouldn’t leave him alone, he’d have laughed in your face. Now, though, tangled up on the kitchen floor with him, the ring on his finger pressing into Louis’s cheek, Louis can’t believe he didn’t see this coming. He can’t believe there was ever a time he didn’t want to let himself have this, didn’t think he needed this. He does need this, though, he can see that now. He needs this so much, needs this boy in his arms more than he needs air. He needed Harry to come into his life and turn everything he thought was true on its head, and now he needs to keep him, to love him, to keep being surprised by him and learning things from him and being inspired by him every day for the rest of his life.

They stumble to their feet after a bit, and their waffles have gone completely cold, but they eat them all anyway. They’re delicious, but Louis might be biased, because Harry made them and, in his opinion, everything Harry does is magic.

They spend the rest of the day in bed, just like Louis wanted, and one of Harry’s best features is that he can’t deny Louis anything. Louis feels like he left every trace of himself on that ship at the bottom of the ocean and, finally, that’s alright. He’s curated a pretty great new version of himself, with the help of the boy on top of him now, kissing him like Louis is the only person he will ever kiss for the rest of his life, because he is, and they both know it. 

It’s cloudy outside, like it might rain later, but that’s alright. Whatever happens will happen, and that’s alright, because the universe has gotten its way and Louis got something pretty spectacular out of it, too. Harry’s working his way down Louis’s body and Louis sends a silent gratitude to whichever force decided to let him have this, and then he closes his eyes, and lets the universe have its way with him.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked the fic, you can reblog it [here](http://suspendrs.tumblr.com/post/174809155978/there-are-no-atheists-in-foxholes-by-suspendrs)
> 
> [faq](http://suspendrs-fics.tumblr.com/faq)


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